Dawn to Dusk
by DemonTsunami
Summary: Spike's all Big and Bad, Buffy's all pissed and mad, and Dawn just hopes this doesn't end bad....
1. Chapter 1

**Dawn to Dusk**

**BY:** Demon Tsunami

**A/N: **For those of you who care, this does not mean Brutal Passions is on hiatus, in fact, this story came into being _before_ my other fic.s, I've just recently been inspired to finish it. I love BTVS, always have, always will, and let's face it Spike and Angel are H.O.T. So I hope you enjoy, this is meant to be a sexy fun fiction! Oh, and for all you perfectionists, I'm well aware I took the Buffy universe and tweaked it to my own needs, so NO nit-picking!

**Warning**: If you don't heed the 'M' rating and decide to whine about language, graphic violence or sexual situations, I'll have Angelus turn you into a vamp and then let Buffy dust you. Sound fair?

_So here we are in twilight_

_Bathed in the almost_

_Of what we never were_

_You the one I love most_

_But the reasons all a blur_

The animalistic roar of rage was enough to wake Dawn from her vivid dream, startled and half conscious she rolled, plummeting for one heart wrenching moment and then landing with an uncomfortable thud. In a pile of limbs she attempted to untwist the borrowed blanket from her legs, sleep muddling her and making it a slow process. The roar sounded again, raising the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. Run, instinct insisted, but she pushed down the nagging urge. Buffy could nag all she wanted about Spike, saying vampires were all soulless and evil, but Dawn slept easiest here in the crypt, not feet from the Big Bad himself.

Of course, Buffy would have an aneurism if she knew her baby sister was here, in a vampire's lair, instead of crashing at Tiffany's house like she'd promised.

Crashing was heard from the deeper, darker parts of the crypt, shattering and banging, it sounded as if Spike were throwing a hissy fit. Perplexed, head tilted as she listened, she would have to suppose this was like the time his favorite character in the soap he watched had died, many a wooden table had suffered that day.

She grinned, able to picture Spike's thick accent echoing around the house about the absurdity of drowning in a lake, his colorful language detailing the unfairness of the fictional character's fate. Everyone had been relieved when the girl had reappeared in the next episode, washed ashore and alive.

"DRU!! BLETHERING 'ELL!!" A short, muttered curse; and Spike appeared, his blue eyes darting across his lair in fierce intensity. From where she sat, she could see the lean paleness of his sculpted chest; see the fury mounting in those sharp eyes. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until it came out in a shaky release, drawing the attention of the undead man.

"'ello pet," Spike grinned, looking the part of roguish monster, eyes gleaming in the crypt's dimness. She nodded slowly, eyeing him warily as he progressed towards her, sleek and predatory, like a large cat about to pounce. "And to whom do I owe the pleasure of this tasty snack?" he mused, causing her to glance at him in confusion.

"Spike?" His eyes narrowed at her casual use of his name, "Are you okay?" He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, eyeing the defenseless girl in front of his couch speculatively. In one of those too fast vampire movements he was beside her, and then she was air born, her throat burning as her feet dangled helplessly a scant number of feet from the floor.

Suspended by her jugular, she wheezed for needed oxygen, for the first time regarding the Big Bad with wide, terrified eyes. Questions lurked in her gaze, but he ignored them, his blue eyes flat and cruel as he regarded his prey, smirking as he leaned in, towards the throat he held her by.

Finally she caught her wits, struggling uselessly in his steel grasp, wishing as her eyes watered that she could summon some previously unknown to her super strength and bash Spike once good. Hopefully knocking some much needed sense into the peroxide blonde, it seemed to work for Buffy.

"Ah, niblet," he breathed in just below her ear, she felt the ghost of his exhale wash across her neck, stirring her hair, "you smell like slayer." If Dawn was able to speak, she would've whacked the stupid vampire on the shoulder and reminded him that that was because Buffy was her sister, as it was she dangled uselessly, bright splotches of color and darkness swimming across her vision. He released her abruptly, watching as she dropped and choked for air, chest heaving, hands fisted.

"What the hell Spike?" She hissed, scuttling back from the dark amusement plain on his features. She shivered, noticing the chill in the crypt, and the way the same arctic temperature was reflected in two watchful eyes. He tilted his head, regarding her for a moment, before asking in calm and lethal sounding tone.

"Do ' know you love?" He cocked his head, smirking, "Lil' niblet who knows my name and smells like that damned Slayer," his eyes narrowed, he leaned down, caressing her hair in a very not-Spike like gesture. He is features melted into hostile ridges, eyes going feral amber, startling the girl, who despite his previous threats had continued to look at him without fear, which was irritating, to say the least.

"Care to play a game pet?" He taunted, licking his lips, evaluating the weak human before him in almost lazy hostility.

"Game?" She echoed, in game face Spike looked twice as menacing, and she was beginning to get the distinct vibe that this was no joke.

"Oi," He grinned a disturbing smile, flashing a bit of pearly sharp fang. "If I win, luv, you tell me where that bitch of a Slayer is hiding."

Buffy? As in 'I love her enough to switch sides' Buffy? Dawn couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"And if I win?" She questioned slowly, releasing some tension as he slipped back into his normal ridge less profile. Her eyes were scanning the exit, replaying every self defense maneuver Buffy and Giles had ever taught her.

"Sorry pet," he smiled ruefully, "it's not that kind of game." Her stomach dropped to around her knees somewhere.

A dark chuckle punctuated his statement, intense eyes scanning the girl's features for some sort of recognizable fear. She studied him in confusion, mouth slightly agape, but her pulse stayed even, slow as she digested the meaning of his words.

In a flash he was beside her, a finger stroking the pulse point that beckoned him, begging him to drain her, and he let the temptation of it reflect in his eyes, in his posture.

"S-spike," she trembled as he drew nearer, she'd never seen this side of him before. He looked like he was seriously contemplating eating her, her skin was growing warm where his finger traced the vein, his eyes locked with the pulsating blue line. She swallowed, hard. He chuckled, the same sadistic not-Spike like sound, pressing her body back against the hard edge of his couch.

He crowded her in the scent of leather and tobacco, his lithe muscular form more than enough to dwarf her thin waifish one. His eyes were dancing; he was enjoying playing with her, trying to spark some fear in the confusingly calm chit. Knowing vamps could smell fear, and that something was definitely not on the up-and-up with her undead friend, instinct kicked in and she stilled, trying to make herself smaller as he loomed over her.

"Mm, tidbit," she smelled copper and smoke on his breath, "Where is the slayer?" he breathed, invading her personal space far too completely for comfort. She didn't mention how lucky he was that her sister had yet to appear, he didn't seem at all like himself tonight. She braced his chest with one arm, wincing as he closed the distance anyway, bending her wrist at a painful angle.

"I'll give you a clue," A cold, furious voice monotoned from over Spike's shoulder, "Turn around." As he did so his smirking face was met with the business end of the Slayer's fist, her emerald eyes burning in rage. She'd stopped by to see if Spike wanted to patrol tonight. "Don't-You-EVER-Touch-My-Sister-You-Fanged-Cretin!" Each word was punctuated with a fierce attack; the lithe limbs of her sister moved with skilled accuracy, beating a snarling Spike into the stone wall like she intended to splatter paint him across it.

"Hold on a tic, luv, your sister?" He caught her foot, twisting and splaying the blonde across the floor, "Since when does the Slayer have a sister?" Instead of answering his idiotic question, Buffy went for his knee, breaking the cap easily and flipping upwards to an attack stance. Spike grimaced, favoring the weakened knee, and attempted a retaliation that Buffy easily countered, twirling a stake in her hand as she held the blonde vamp to the floor with one sneaker.

"Bitch," he snarled, in game face.

"Future dust bunny," she countered, her face contorted with fury. Beneath the rage, safely hidden from blue eyes, there lurked an innate sense of betrayal. Used to being forgotten, Dawn watched the two interact in a deadly show of force, wincing at the blows to both sides, not sure cheering one or the other on was appropriate in this situation. Buffy was clearly winning, and the deadly piece of sharpened wood matched the knife like intensity of the slim and powerful girl as she pushed her opponent down for the third time, poised to strike the tip of the stake through his chest.

"NO!" she reacted without thought, shoving her elder sister away, and giving Spike the time he needed to escape her pin. The peroxide blonde threw her a calculating gaze that made her blood run cold, and with a sneer he had disappeared, leaving Dawn to face her sister's building wrath.

The elder of the Summers sisters eyed her sibling in outraged disbelief, "I can't believe you just did that!" Buffy yelled shaking her sister's shoulders firmly, her super strength made Dawn's teeth rattle. "What were you even doing here? He could've killed you!"

"You almost killed him!" Dawn accused, eyes watering with frustration and confusion.

"Of course I did! That's what I do, Dawn!" Buffy crossed her arms, green eyes flashing, "I kill the baddie vampires, hence the term 'Slayer'." Dawn rolled her eyes, sniffling and wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.

"Spike's not evil…" Dawn paused, her mind replaying the scene she'd just played a part in, "Usually." She shook her head, dismissing her own doubts in favor of convincing her sister not to follow the blonde vampire into the night and finish what she'd started. Dawn knew her sister well enough to realize that this would be her first plan of action, stake Spike first, figure out why he'd turned all Big Bad on them again later.

"Neither was Angel, usually," Buffy retorted dryly, but when her younger sister's lip trembled she drew her into a close embrace. Speaking with her chin resting gently on her siblings head, she continued, "We'll drop you off at Giles'." Dawn fought the hug, pulling away determinedly despite Buffy's superior strength; her eyes were narrowed, full of accusation.

"You're planning on staking Spike, aren't you?" at Buffy's stern silence Dawn recoiled, her voice venomous. "After all he's done, you still think that's him, don't you? Buffy, Spike _loves_ you," at her sister's polite expression of disbelief, she changed tactics, unwilling to get into the old 'soulless people can't love' debate yet again. "If it were Willow or Xander you'd at least _ask_ Giles if something could be done." She stood in face off, mimicking her sister's cross armed stance, reminding Buffy of being a teenager, and how much harder Sunnydale made this emotional age.

"Alright," she sighed, puffing her blonde bangs, "Giles' first," she turned a warning glance towards her sister's starting clap of glee, her eyes sad but serious, "but Dawn, don't get your hopes up, he's probably going to say the same thing I did." Dawn nodded, deflating, wondering how she was supposed to survive the Hell mouth without her only real friend. She'd never say that to Buffy though, her sister already shit bricks at the fact that it had been Spike Dawn chose to run to when she'd…passed. Telling her Slayer sister she considered any vampire a friend would not go over well.

Unfortunately, if Buffy knew anyone well, it was her Watcher. Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose in a familiar habit, a pinched expression stealing over his features as he digested the two stories that had been placed before him. One from a shell shocked and protective Dawn, the other from his furious Slayer, her green eyes narrowed in promised vengeance. He sat, because this was not a matter that allowed him to pace, knowing what had to be said before it was uttered, and looking for the correctly delicate way to phrase it. Willow was hugging a couch pillow, she'd rushed over so quickly she was still in her PJs. Anya and Xander were on their way.

"Dawn, dear," The teenager regarded him with wary eyes, "I'm sorry, as it seems you've developed a-" at Buffy's look of warning he cleared his throat, "relationship with this particular vampire." He tried not to let his disgust at this show. "But if Spike is now chip less, and attacking humans, we must let Buffy do what's right." Dawn's face screwed into an expression of petulant defiance, and then, as if a shutter was pulled, she regarded him in stony silence.

"Dawnie," Willow regarded the teen sitting next to her, having associated long enough with the sisters to recognize that look, "This uber-sucks, but how much worse would it be for him to be left in all his new badness and start biting people again? What if he hurts Buffy?" she added, neither earned her a response.

"Right, well," Giles blinked, rubbing his hands together, "I will try and find something that relates to Spike's case," he announced, mostly for Dawn's benefit, "in the mean time though, I believe we should continue as usual. Buffy will patrol, and keep an eye out for a murderous Spike, while we research."

Dawn wasn't a kid anymore; she knew these so-called adults often forgot, but she no longer believed that the world was rainbows and kittens, and she sure as hell knew when someone was trying to pull a fast one on her. Maybe before she knew she was some mystic key, before Buffy had died, maybe _that_ Dawn would've been content to sit and thumb through dusty books while her sister hunted the only person who'd ever bothered to try and understand her, but this Dawn was a little less gullible.

She knew life wasn't always fair, had seen with her own eyes that the good guys didn't always make it to the happy ending, but that didn't mean she had to lie down and take it! She might not be a Chose One like her sister, but she wasn't exactly a normal seventeen year old either, living on the Hellmouth had created strength in her that the oblivious peers in her school would never get. No one normal could ever understand.

After listening to a brief discussion about the night's arrangements, Buffy having decided she would take herself and Dawn home to gather sleepover gear for Dawn (who was apparently being imprisoned at Giles' for the night with no say in the matter) and more weaponry for her patrol. Dawn trailed her sister resentfully, eyeing the darkness in Sunnydale mournfully as she trudge along. They all talked of killing Spike like it was no big deal, just another vampire, just another night on the Hellmouth. Honestly, she didn't know what to do with the conflicting emotions inside her.

The reasonable, logical Dawn, insisted her sister was right, that once a vampire started biting it was time to put him down, but sentimental, caring Dawn was so outraged at this callousness she rejected it instantly. Insisting to herself she _knew_ Spike; that she'd taken the time to see there was more behind the caustic Brit then he liked to let on, a gentler, kinder person, soul or no soul.

She turned to see Buffy lost in her own thoughts, lips pursed as cat like eyes scanned the seemingly innocent suburb streets for signs of impending doom. It was the Slayer who knew first, of course, given she had that whole Chosen One six sense on the undead and fanged, but she chose to remain silent and watchful rather than let on.

It was obvious how hard this was on Dawn, although she for one couldn't begin to fathom what had attached her sibling to the Big Bad, instinct told her that Dawn had yet to accept that Spike was now firmly back into the 'bad guy' category (where, personally, she always had felt he belonged). It wasn't unusual to sense a vampire in Sunnydale, and sentiment clouded her judgment. She didn't want to alert the other girl unless absolutely necessary and add undue strain to Dawn's already troubled mind. She realized her mistake moments too late.

Spike was a blur of leather and illuminated blonde locks as he pushed the small human against the tree trunk, whirling instinctively to face the rapidly approaching Slayer, "Stop," he ground out, flashing his game face meaningfully, "Or 'll crush baby sis here like butter." Buffy froze, green eyes darting around for a weapon or an ally, her teeth gnashed in self condemning fury, blaming herself for not being more aware.

Dawn breathed slowly, evenly, trying to slow her increased heart rate. Spike had his body pressed alongside hers, his hand at her throat, covering the purple splotches from his earlier levitation technique with one restraining hand. His blue eyes still had that same cold fire, anger and sadistic amusement. His attention was all for Buffy, though, who stood shifting foot from foot indecisively, her eyes pinned to her trapped sister in concern. Spike chuckled darkly, and Dawn could feel the vibrations through his coat, smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. His game face faded, and the familiar wry profile of the vampire returned in all its sharp beauty, pale features and burning eyes.

"Lovely night, eh Slayer?" Spike's expression darkened, "Everyone in this bloody town is crazier than usual."

"You're one to talk," Buffy commented dryly, she had a stake on her, but with Dawn so close it would be risky.

"One move, pet, and I snap niblet's neck," He didn't see the look of frustration crossing Dawn's face, but Buffy did. "'m no' exactly having a peachy night." He did look perilously close to snapping, fidgeting as he stood, antsy as he regarded the slayer, his pressure against Dawn still held firm though. But it was obvious something had changed since they'd last seen him, Dawn was sure, he looked spooked instead of just angry.

"Let Dawn go," Buffy demanded, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed in confrontation. "It's me you want anyway." She added as an afterthought, trying to goad him into turning his attention completely away from her sister.

"Actually luv," he laughed, a humorless chuckle, "As this little bit is the only one who _hasn't_ tried killing me tonight, it's her I want." He frowned, shaking his head, "Besides, I have a feeling baby sis will be a lot easier to pump for information." He grinned maliciously.

"Let her go," Buffy gritted, wincing as he ground Dawn into the tree, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from the girl. A challenge exchanged between master vampire and Slayer, caught in their stand still.

"Don't worry pet, I'll send her back," Spike stroked the brunette's head, taunting the Slayer in delight. "In pieces." Buffy edged forward, and Dawn was flattened harder against rough bark, her arms would probably have scratches on them, if she didn't suffocate first.

"Spike!" Dawn squeaked, feeling as if her rib cage might snap. "Buffy!" she changed tactics when he didn't stop increasing pressure, her sister was taking slow careful steps towards the two at the tree. Buffy stopped, her body jerking to a halt at Dawn's plea, green eyes flashing pain and vengeance as she regarded the traitorous vampire.

"To think I almost believed your crap," Buffy spat, still in an offensive stance, "I won't make that mistake again, Spike." She warned, haughty and menacing, looking the part of the heroine inch for inch.

"As much as 'd love to stay and chat, Slayer, I don't have time to waste debating with you all night," Spike's arrogant smile was back, eyes like ice. "So say goodbye to sister here, we're going to have a nice long chat about what the fecking hell is wrong with everyone in this bleeding town." He sneered, flashing elongated teeth, "Get in my way Slayer, and your baby sister get's a front row showing of how nasty the Big Bad can be."

"When I catch up to you, there won't be enough left to fill a dust buster," Buffy threatened, hands fisted. "And if you hurt her Spike, I'll personally defang you. Tooth by tooth."

"Kinky Slayer, didn't know you 'ad it in you," He grinned roguishly, pulling Dawn to his chest and backing away from the tree carefully. His hand remained at her throat, baring her neck lest the Slayer get any ideas. He was still chuckling before he disappeared in one of those too fast vampire movements, the echoed laughter hung for a moment even after he'd gone. The only noise on the otherwise abandoned street.

Buffy hugged herself, feeling a chill in the air that hadn't been there previously, she needed to get back to Giles. So they could come up with a plan and rescue Dawn, before anything happened. And may God have mercy on that soon-to-be pile of ashes if he dared touch her sister, maybe good old Spike needed a reminder of how thoroughly she could wipe his undead butt across the floor before she re-killed him, permanently.

-*-

"Chains?" Dawn questioned; her unease apparent as he dragged her roughly towards one warehouse's walls. This place smelled like rat crap and saw dust, one of the many abandoned warehouses Sunnydale's undead claimed as their own. A pair of heavy manacles were steel bolted to the crumbling concrete wall, looking well rusted with unidentified corrosives, so that they looked twice as uncomfortable and menacing.

"Not your color luv?" He taunted, shoving her roughly to the ground. She tripped, catching herself on her palms, which ached fiercely, glaring up at him with accusing hazel eyes.

"You're being such an ass Spike," she scowled, righting herself, "what's your freaking problem already?"

"I s'pose it has a wee bit to do with the fact that everyone suddenly seems to think 'm _not_ an arse," Spike shoved her into the wall, meeting wide hazel eyes with an intense glare, "since when does the Big Bad care about bein' _mean _for Christ's sake!" He gripped her wrists with almost bone breaking force, clicking the manacles around them with a furious scowl.

"Since you fell in love with Buffy, or was that just pretend too?" Dawn questioned bitterly. Like lighting a pale fist crunched into the solid wall right next to her head, crumbling the concrete in a fist shaped hole. She stared at the indent with fearful eyes, quite aware how that technique would affect her skull had he aimed slightly more towards the left.

"I am not in _love_ with the Slayer," He spat, "the next person to say that is going to find themselves sorely sorry," he whispered with malice, eyeing her meaningfully. Dawn nodded slowly, wondering to herself what the hell was going on. He'd pulled a complete one-eighty in his personality, almost like a completely different person, and now he suddenly no longer loved Buffy? The same person he'd been moping over for months and months?

He stood, straightening his leather jacket and lighting a cigarette. The smoke plumed out his mouth in short aggravated puffs as he regarded the human girl shackled to the wall. As he smoked he paced, Dawn's eyes trailing his movements avidly, seeing both the elder brother figure she'd gotten accustomed to relying on and the monster that had been threatening her for the better part of the night. Unfortunately they happened to be the same person. She was so pissed at him she just wanted to shake him until he stopped this weird and violent streak, but she very much doubted he would've allowed that even before he became all Big Bad again.

-*-

"He's got Dawn," Buffy flung herself into her watcher's arms, startling Giles immensely. Awkwardly the Englishman patted his Slayer's back, apparently at a loss, a flustered blush stealing across his features. Willow came to his rescue, prying the blonde off him and into her warm hug, murmuring nothing reassurances as the strong fighter broke down into tears.

"It's all my fault," she hiccupped, talking over Willow's beginning protests. "He's got Dawn and he's doing God knows what and it's all my stupid fault for believing his lies! This would've never happened if I'd staked him when I should've!"

"At least she admits it," Anya commented from the couch, earning her an elbow nudge from Xander, who mouthed that now was not the time.

"Oh, Buffy," Willow stroked her best friend's hair reassuringly; "It's not your fault. We all believed Spike, even Giles."

"Yes, well," Giles cleared his throat in embarrassment, "We all make mistakes."

"Yeah, now we just get to hunt him down and dust him, like any other baddie," Xander was clearly not as put out with this change of events as everyone else. He sounded excited at the idea, like a kid who finally got what he wanted for Christmas after waiting all year, and this earned him a censoring glance from Willow, who was leading Buffy towards the couch.

"I'm so worried," Buffy clenched her hands, trying to stop the water works. Sniffling, she clenched her eyes shut against unwanted predictions of what may or may not be happening to her sister at this very moment, "I don't think I can bear to lose someone else," her green eyes were bottomless with hurt, still shadowed with the strain of her recent back-to-life experience. "Dawn's all I have left."

"No, you have us," surprising everyone, Anya added one of her rare positive comments.

"Yeah," Xander grinned, gripping his fiancé around the waist with pride, "we'll get Dawnie back, Buffster."

"I'll start researching possible links between Spike and The Key," Giles wiped his glasses, addressing them all, "Though this might have more to do with Spike's personal preferences, we can't eliminate other possibilities."

"I'll help," Willow offered with a small smile.

"I'll start dusting newbies until somebody talks," Buffy announced, standing. "I need to do _something_," she replied to her Watcher's concerned gaze. Giles nodded, looking away abruptly. Their plan set, the Scooby gang started distributing large volumes of text from Giles' book shelf amongst themselves as Buffy gathered a few back up stakes and a crossbow from Giles. She took a large hunting knife from his outstretched hand, managing a weak smile.

"Ah," he blinked, "Buffy," he held onto it, locking their grip, "Do be careful." There was a tightness around his eyes that suggested the strain this cost him, to let her go out and hunt the baddies alone. Lately she'd had Spike as patrol backup, now she was once again going against the master vampire, and as always, this was no light matter. She nodded, brushing off his concern easily.

"Will do, don't wait up," she flung over her shoulder, slamming the door behind her. For the first time Willow noticed something she never had about Giles, the steady longing in his eyes as he stared at the closed door was more telling then he probably ever intended it to be. Unless she was mistaken, Buffy's Watcher was developing a crush on his Slayer.

-*-

"Tit for tat, niblet," he licked the blood off of one knuckle with a languorous swipe of his tongue. "I warned you." He added as she nursed her split lip, having made the mistake of referencing his previous infatuation with her sister. Only, how could she _not_ say it? He kept asking her all these weird questions and then flipping out when she told him the truth, unnerved was a slight understatement about her frame of mind at the moment.

"Jerk," Dawn muttered darkly, for the first time that night eyeing him with disgust. He shrugged; non pulsed, putting his cigarette out across the wall in a shower of embers.

"Now, niblet, we start over, and if you even think the word Slayer and love together, I'll rip your tongue out, peachy?" He growled, "Starting with your name."

"Dawn Summers," Dawn gritted, turning her face away in frustration. He'd been acting like he hadn't a clue who she was since he began this interrogation, and she was pretty close to snapping his head off. If he was going to go all evil that was one thing, but he could at least cut the act and stop toying with her.

"Now why," he returned to their previous topic, "would everyone think that I suddenly like to dust my own kind, and spend my days pining over that Slayer whelp?" This was the question that had landed her in trouble, she sighed, staring at him through the loop her arms made.

"What do _you_ think is going on?" She countered, not willing to be smacked around again so soon.

"If I knew that, pet," he pointed out with an arched eyebrow, "I wouldn't be asking you, would I?" He gritted his teeth, running a hand through his tufts of blonde hair in apparent exasperation. "I wake up, Dru's gone, some mortal chit is sleeping on _my_ couch, half the people I knew are dead, and the other half thinks I'm a fecking bleeding heart over that itty bitty Slayer bitch."

His eyes narrowed dangerously, continuing his rant and lighting another cig, "Vamps who used to be my mates are trying to kill me," he laughed without humor, as seemingly confused as he claimed to be, eyeing her suspiciously with twin blue orbs. "And the only person who saved my arse tonight was the Slayer's kid sister." He shook his head, "that doesn't sit right with me, by the way pet, what in the hell possessed you from stopping big sis from making me ash?" He flicked the cigarette, eyeing her in calculation as he took a long slow inhalation of smoke.

"Well, until tonight," Dawn swallowed, not sure she was going to like his reaction to this, "I thought we were friends."

"Friends?" He arched an eyebrow in blatant disbelief. His sauntered over to her, kneeling on one leg so that their faces were almost touching nose-to-nose. He exhaled, blowing hot smoke across her face, making her choke and causing her eyes to water. "Tidbit, I drain little girls like you, occasionally I feck them, hell, when the mood strikes I'll even torture them a bit, see what make 'um squirm." His tone was decidedly sinister as he traced her cheek, chuckling at the defiant glare she shot him, "but niblet, I don't _befriend_ humans." His tone clearly indicated how unappealing the concept was to him.

"What would make you believe me?" She demanded. She _knew_ Spike, had spent hours in his crypt in the weeks after her sister had sacrificed herself, just talking with him about Buffy. Even if he was just pretending not to know what was really going on, she wasn't about to start denying the last year of her life for his amusement.

"I'm not sure," he answered candidly, "try me." He made the last sound like a challenge. Dawn sighed, smiling to herself despite her circumstances, in some ways Spike was always just Spike. Blonde and moody, his new talent for violent tendencies and chaining her to walls aside.

"Well," she racked her brain, thinking back to that night and what she'd learned about the handsome vampire in front of her. "You got your name from sticking railroad spikes into people?" She offered.

"Your sis could've told you that much," he scoffed, unconvinced.

She knew something he'd told her that she very much doubted he'd claim she learned from her sister, but she was going to save that as her ace in the hole. But after a few more failures, when even revealing his favorite daytime soap still didn't convince the surly vampire, a surprise considering she was pretty sure that wasn't public knowledge that the Big Bad liked that sort of thing, she found herself running out of options, and he seemed to be running out of patience.

"You were a poet," she blurted out, finally seeing a flash of surprise. "William the-" and with that there was another fist shaped hole in the wall, on the opposite side of the first.

"If this is all true, why can't I remember a damned thing?" He growled in frustration, his arms outstretched and set on either side of her head. "I think I'd recall a thing or two, starting with the love of my life running out on me." He looked dangerously on edge, face set in a hardened expression of denial as he hovered above her. Then his expression changed, blue eyes going lust lidded as he stared at her mouth for a prolonged moment. Dawn flushed, breath coming a bit harder as he stared, devious intent written plainly across his features.

"Lovely," he bent, licking a few stray drops of blood from her lip. Dawn gasped, pressing herself as far into the wall as she could possibly go, her lips tingling where his tongue had touched them. Shouldn't she be the essence of wigginess? Spike had just _licked_ blood off her.

"Oh niblet," he groaned, "what is in that blood of yours?" He licked his lips, grinning. "Tastes like power." He closed the scant distance she'd managed to put between them easily, blue eyes burning as they traced the column of her throat. Dawn swallowed, remaining still as stone as his fingers traced the path his eyes had taken.

"S-spike?" At her almost whisper he glanced up, that same desire still evident in his expression. As long as she could remember, Spike had never stared at her like that.

"Shhh…." He put a finger to her lips, pressing against the wound and drawing a few more drops of crimson. He liked the way she tasted, spicy-sweet, the addictive lacing of power wasn't a bad addition either. Licking the blood from his finger he regarded her, the way her pert little breasts bounced with her labored breathing, the wary respect in those hazel eyes. For the first time that night since he'd woken up to this hellish reality, he was beginning to feel like himself again, the Big Bad.

He told himself it was the blood lust that convinced him, not the way she was looking at him, and definitely not the memory of this little wench throwing the Slayer off of him minutes before he became dust bin sized. Although, the latter hadn't hurt her odds, being as it was his original reason for kidnapping her, besides the obvious bonus of besting the Slayer and stealing her sister from right under her nose. Still, he remained firm that the reason for unlocking her cuffs had to do more with biting her and nothing to do with making her more comfortable. To prove it to himself he yanked her upwards, nearly pulling her fragile arm out of its socket, not giving her a chance to rub at her already raw wrists.

"What now?" She asked in trepidation as he dragged her up the creaking metal stairs. He turned, pausing for a moment to glance at her over one shoulder.

"Now, I show you what it's really like being friends with the Big Bad," He flashed her a smile that was all promised malice and fang and then continued forward, pulling her like a reluctant toy. Dawn didn't have to be psychic to know she wasn't going to like the end result of those words, and she found herself wishing that Buffy would find her soon. Like, before crazy Spike went all game face and turned her into a midnight snack.

-*-

Buffy surveyed the chaos she'd smeared across every visible surface of the demon bar. Broken chairs, some splintered and pilfered for stake usage littered the floor amidst shattered bottles and glasses alike, their contents soaking into the filthy wood. A few unconscious demons still lay about, the rest having scattered, and of course the only indication of vampires was two neat little dust piles.

It wasn't her fault the undead and damned got all touchy when the Slayer started asking questions. Apparently she wasn't the only one with a Spike-related beef, although this hadn't made anyone any more willing to have a heart to heart with Sunnydale's primary defense weapon. She sighed, crunching the debris under her black boots and searching for the cowardly bartender. Perhaps he'd fled during the commotion.

"Ah! Don't kill me!" the demon cowered, flabby skin wiggled as he attempted to conceal himself further behind the overturned table. Buffy hoisted Clem up by the scruff of his t-shirt, recognizing him from his previous visits to Spike's crypt. Lately she'd been fishing her sister out of that place more than was healthy for the teen girl; she just hadn't understood the appeal Dawn felt towards that creepy hole. Well, she supposed she wouldn't have to be worrying about that any longer, with Spike about to become about as substantial as the cigarette ash he frequently produced.

"Where's my sister?" Buffy hissed, she was not in a friendly neighborhood Slayer mood tonight. Tonight, she was in a frantic 'find-my-sister-before-the-unthinkable-happens' mode, and this was not a pleasant mode to find a super strong hell-hath-no-fury-like-a-Slayer-tricked Buffy.

"Your sister?" Clem's eyes darted from side to side, he held up his hands trying to appear more harmless if possible. "I-I haven't seen her, I swear." Clem liked Dawn, much better than her scary sister, the girl was an awesome movie watching buddy. She wasn't even put off by his appearance, a rarity to be sure.

"Spike, then, have you seen him?" She gritted, eyes narrowing. Clem swallowed, managing a weak chuckle.

"He came in here earlier, very angry," Clem eyed the debris around the bar, "Actually, his entrance and yours went over just about the same." Buffy rolled her eyes, not liking the comparison.

"What did he say? Anything about where he might be headed?" she demanded, hands on her hips. He shook his flabby head in animated denial. "Evil plans? Anything?"

"Well," the demon hesitated, looking unsure.

"What?"

"He did ask about something," Clem seemed troubled by the bit of information he was passing on, glancing at the Slayer meaningfully. "He wanted to know where Drusilla was, only…" confused by his friend's uncharacteristic behavior he continued, "he didn't remember her leaving him. A classic case of denial if you ask me." He added the last in an informative tone.

Buffy ignored him, only hearing one thing, Spike was still crazy (not shocking) and Clem had no idea where his fanged friend had gone. In frustration she kicked at a fallen barstool, cursing this town. How many people did it have to take from her until it had its fill?

Dawn won't be one of them, she promised herself feverantly, she couldn't bear to lose her last close family member. At this point she was looking forward to dusting Spike, not entirely sure it would be a quick dusting if he'd done anything to Dawn. In fact, she was willing to bet there would be a lot of bone crunching before the master vampire's final disappearing act.

-*-

"Spike," she spoke his name like she knew him, firm and demanding, "You are not going to bite me." He chuckled darkly, having pinned her down moments before despite her best attempts to resist.

"Oh really niblet?" defenseless, her body molded to him at every curve, hands captured above her head, he didn't really see what choice she had in the matter. He nuzzled her cheek, smiling as she flinched backwards, eyes burning bright with the adrenaline from their earlier tussle.

"Yes," she reaffirmed a bit breathlessly, "this isn't like you." She added the last almost like a plea; she'd never seen his features so darkened, his eyes so predatory, and the look he was giving her made her shiver. His grip on her wrists was firmer then the cuffs he'd placed her in earlier, sardonic blue eyes poured over her body in such a way that she held her breath.

"And you know me so well," he replied in sarcastic teasing, nipping her neck with his duller front teeth, causing her to yip and struggle uselessly. He smirked down at her wide, terror stricken expression, her legs butting his in a feeble attempt to gain leverage, and pressed his knees into her upper thighs, eliciting a pained noise from her.

"Apparently not, the Spike I knew would've never-"

"The Spike _you knew_?" He had to laugh in disbelief, "From what I've heard, pet, me and _that_ Spike are as different as night and day. And niblet?" he whispered the last in her ear, and she tried to turn to face him, eyes defiant, so he shifted his grip, holding her chin still. "If we're going to be friends, you're going to have to stop squirming like that," he let the effect her wiggling and pathetic attempts to pry him off were having on his body be conveyed in one possessive, predatory glance, "or I'm gunna end up stickin' more than my fangs in you."

Her lip curled at the crud insinuation, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow, "Aren't I a little young for you?" She demanded in a haughty tone, an errant blush still stealing across her features. He tilted his head, a devious grin alighting his features as he pondered it.

"Isn't everyone?" He asked in false innocence, "Besides, tid bit, for now I'm only interested in one thing." His face shifted to hard planes, golden eyes searing her in remorseless blood lust.

She tried to wrench her chin from his fingers, but his grip held, and for the first time Dawn really felt what Buffy had always tried to calmly explain, Spike wasn't human. She'd always known he was a vampire of course, but she'd treated him as harmless, a friend with fangs sort of deal. Staring at the cruel glint of his features as he lowered his head, she knew that'd been a mistake on her part. He wasn't some outcast like her, different despite his will, the expression on his face let her know he glorified in his darker self, liked being evil. Had he really lost his memory, or had he always planned to betray them?

His fangs pierced flesh, and Dawn gasped, expecting pain, brutal mind numbing pain. It hurt, but not like she expected, it hurt like a static shock would, the spark hurts, shocking at first contact and then gone in a flash. A kiss of pain, and then nothing but the feel of his lips moving against the column of her throat, pulling, sucking blood from her veins in long languid swallows. In his desire to drink more easily he shifted, dropping his weight against her and cradling her head to the side, stroking her cheek absently with one long finger. She whimpered, scared despite her resolve to show no fear, had it hurt it would've made it easier to find the strength to struggle, as it was she was feeling heavier and more lethargic by the second.

He groaned, the noise vibrating across her jugular, and she felt like someone had suddenly hooked her body up to a microwave, burning from the inside out. She thrashed, the sizzling sensation electric in her veins, pooling heat in her abdomen and making every nerve ending unbearably sensitive. He held her tighter, forcing her to remain still under his crushing weight, but she still throbbed with unfamiliar friction, heat without source or signs of stopping rushing through her body and wiping out any coherent thought. She felt liquid, pliant, drowning in heat, the consistent pull at her throat not bothering her as it should have, her brain was seeing red, doused in flame. It seared there, devouring anything but the tantalizing lick of heat spreading throughout her body, consuming her.

-*-

Spike didn't usually have a taste for innocents, and there was no doubt looking at the peaceful expression of the Slayer's sister as she slept that that was exactly what this particular tid bit was. An innocent. He stared at the mark he'd left on her neck, two puncture points well hidden in what almost looked like a hickey. Her blood was like the heroine of liquid gratification, it was practically bursting with power, even more potent then the Slayer blood he'd drank, making him wonder what the seemingly powerless mortal was keeping from him. It was a possibility she could be naively unaware she even possessed it, but at the sheer amount he'd tasted in her veins he highly doubted this was the case. No, this little niblet was more then she was letting on. Only, what should he care?

Sensibly, Spike realized his not draining the brat dry was an uncharacteristic mercy on his own part. Sure, he'd had various women in his time, kept them alive (for a bit anyway) so he could feed and fuck at his own leisure, it was always nice to have a meal and a warm body on hand. Yet, she was a bit young for his usual appetites, and like he'd said, an innocent. Fiery little wench though, he recalled her struggles with a heated grin, fought him tooth and nail when she realized he had no intentions of playing nice or fighting fair. That squirming effort for release, mixed with the heady flavor of her blood, had given him a hard on, which she was unconsciously laying across, having passed out when he'd taken a little too much. Well, it'd been the chit's own fault for making it such a good sport, he reasoned remorselessly.

He touched the brunette strands splayed across his chest, thinking as he ran the silky texture through his fingers. He knew what he should do with the wench, if he had any sense he'd use her to bait the Slayer, end this nonsense about his supposed attraction to the bitch once and for all by draining her dry. With her weak baby sister in his evil clutches, he was positive the Slayer wouldn't be that much trouble at all; and there was nothing he enjoyed more than ridding the world of another Slayer. He could make it fun too, make sister here bleeding bait, always more interesting, maybe make the Slayer watch him drain her first. Break her heart before he broke her neck.

Then he saw a slim figure in his mind's eye, the way she'd blocked him from the business end of a stake, her eyes meeting his in askance as he'd slipped away. Remembered the hurt in those same doe-like eyes as she'd told them they were _friends_ and he'd rejected the idea instantly. He wasn't some bloody house pet; he'd very well proven that at least.

The surprised fear in her gaze before he'd bitten her was enough to convince him he'd gotten the point across, at last. She was entirely too comfortable around him, adopting an easy familiarity at times that grated on his nerves, as it seemed to go along with her ludicrous explanation as to their supposed relationship. Friends, she'd said, he mused tracing the many marks he'd left on her neck, bruises and a large red bite mark that looked startling against the pale coloring of her throat. Would she still entertain the notion now? He wondered in amusement.

As the Slayer's sister you would think the girl would have more sense than to befriend any vampire. Especially one like him, intent as he was on ending the Slayers existence for his own proverbial notch on the belt, the blonde bint more then had it coming after all, she'd been an obnoxious pain in the arse since day one. The accusations of him loving her were plain revolting, and about as likely to happen as the platonic friendship her sister claimed. After his first taste of her, he wasn't about to stop, he knew he was already addicted to the potent power her blood promised, and he didn't mind the squirming tight little body that held it either. Both were fun, in their own ways, and had been a nice distraction from his hellish day.

She stirred in her sleep, fingers clutching at the fabric of his coat, body shifting slightly in slumber. He lifted her easily, effortlessly, and deposited her none too gently onto the couch, her body bouncing with the force of the short drop. She awoke fuzzily, eyes muddled with sleep and staring around uncomprehendingly for a moment, a sleepy smile on her face. Then she appeared to refocus, and her dual colored eyes met his with a sharp snap of wary unease. The filthy couch he'd pinned her too got a look of revulsion as she straightened and sat, adjusting her clothing and running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to straighten the muss.

"Buffy's going to shit a brick," she moaned, feeling the two indented wounds on her neck. She turned to Spike with fire in her eyes. "Then she's going to use it to smash your smug face in, and don't look at me like that!" she ordered as his grin grew wide and wicked, "it's creepy."

"Creepy?" He asked in amusement, hauling her against him with minimal force. "Oh tid bit, you don't know the half of it." He tilted his head, regarding her youth and vitality with keen unreadable eyes, she was still weak from the bloodletting, he could tell.

"Your right, for once," She added the last with a sniff, pretending his close proximity wasn't unsettling after their most recent… encounter. "I don't know the half of it, one minute you treat me like a kid, then the next like a happy meal, and then sometimes…" she trailed off, biting her lip. Sometimes, just recently, he looked at her like she used to catch him looking at Buffy, like he was having dark dastardly thoughts and enjoying them thoroughly.

His threat earlier rang in her ears, scalding her too naïve mind with the words' vulgarity, he couldn't have meant them. She was what? A tenth his age at most. Besides, Spike liked strong women, like that crazy weirdo Dru, or her tough-as-nails Slayer sister, not an immature teen like herself. Right? Right. Furthermore, he was totally in full Big Bad mode, uber evil style, so thoughts of that nature in concerns to weird lust-vibes were hereby banned. In fact, she was starting to get the awful stomach clenching feeling that saving Spike from Buffy was slowly becoming impossible.

She _might_ be able to talk the Slayer into letting the whole kidnapping thing go, but fang marks? Dawn groaned inwardly, Buffy had this stipulation about baddie vampires using human's as midnight snacks, _especially_ when it involved her little sister. Hopeless…

"Lettin' your mind wander niblet?" Spike toned in a indifferent drawl, a blonde eyebrow arched sardonically, "Think it's wise ta let down yer guard around me?" He was smoking again, a long exhale drifted past his lips, spell binding blue eyes burning at her in mocking inquiry. Dawn snorted, rolling her hazel eyes.

"Yeah, as if I've got a chance anyway," she crossed her arms, giving Spike a meaningful glare, "You've gone all Big Bad wonky again, so as I see it, there are two possible ways this will go."

"Oh? Enlighten me luv," he ordered with a saucy grin. Dawn's returning stare was half as amused, but twice as wary.

"Way one," she ticked off one finger, "Buffy comes charging in here all 'save the day' and ashes your undead butt." Pointedly ignoring his furious scowl she hurried on to the next possibility, "Way two, you keep up this me-Big-Badness, you-puny-human routine, bleed me, I die, and _then_ Buffy turns you into a nice little urn sized trophy." She smirked, eyes flashing challenge, "Yep, that's about it." The blonde vampire snarled, flashing canine incisors, and Dawn swallowed, belatedly realizing taunting him was a sure fire way to get scenario two revving and ready to go. Dying wasn't on her agenda, but unfortunately for her, she wasn't the one making the plans, newly evil Spike was.

"Tell me, pet," he droned, seeming to be at ease, but Dawn felt the tension in the room, saw the hostile amusement in that lidded blue stare, "What _is_ in that blood of yours? I taste," he licked his lips, "power, but it isn't Slayer, ' know Slayer…. Still quite a punch tho'." He tilted his head, blonde locks gleaming in the flickering florescent light, "So I think it's time for another game." His nimble fingers extinguished the remains of his cigarette, blue eyes dancing in malevolent mirth.

Dawn swallowed hard, eyes like circular discs as she regarded the malice dripping from her so-called 'friend'. "G-game?" she stuttered, trying for brave and bad ass, and ending up shaky and nervous. Damn.

"Yep," he nodded as punctuation, a smirk that was more sneer on his face, "I call this one, tell me what you're hidin' in that blood of yours or'll bleed you dry." He smirked, tilting his head, "Care to guess how to play?"

He was circling her, slowly, taunting her, his every movement liquid predatory grace. Dawn tried to follow his movements and ended up dizzy, she'd _already_ told Spike once what she was, or was supposed to have been, what harm could come out of telling him again? On the other hand, being around the Scoobies and Giles had nailed down one philosophy in her, one that she'd had to learn the hard way, better safe than sorry.

"Um, I say I don't know and you let me off with a warning?" Dawn suggested in a small voice. The menacing vampire shook his head, preening his leather duster as he watched her.

"No, pet, and that's your only practice round, now," in a too quick vampire trick he was right behind her, breathing into her ear, she could _feel_ his eyes on her neck, "try again." Dawn shivered as his cool breath ghosted her flushed skin. A nervous sweat broke out, she was certain he was hearing every beat of her erratic heart. His grips settled on her arms, and she felt goose bumps break out.

"Did I mention there's a time limit luv?" He breathed in warning; he could smell her power laced blood, begging for another good suck. His hands traced her arms, feeling her shiver of unease, and he chuckled darkly under his breath.

"Um…" Dawn stalled; her heart in her throat. His grip on her arms turned fierce, bruising, and she had to swallow a yelp of pain.

"Five…Four…" he toned merrily, she saw his nails elongate and assumed if she turned he would be the picture of nightmares, rigid face, and glowing yellow eyes.

"S-spike," she admonished, feeling sick, his grip turned painful almost bone crunching in intensity.

"Three…Two…" He whispered into her ear in a silky drawl of threat.

"One," a blonde hellion supplied, knocking the blood sucking fiend off of her sister with an outraged snarl. In a flash a piece of sharp wood was in her hand, and her lithe body was crouched, a tightly wound spring dying to pounce.

"Buffy!" Dawn wasn't sure if it was relief or warning that prompted her cry, but that one split second stretched into eternity as the Slayer met her sister's pleading stare, and that instant was all a certain master vampire needed. He jumped the blonde bint, snatching her pony tail and yanking her angry face to the side, ending it with a swift kick to her jaw, chuckling insidiously as he did so.

"Bloody bitch," he snarled, still in game face, landing a few choice kicks to the Slayer's stomach. Buffy coiled around the blows, in fetal position, trying to clear the stars from her vision. Pity, it appeared the Slayer wasn't at the top of her game tonight, but he'd shortly make use of her folly.

"Fecking wench, first I'll beat your ass to concrete Slayer, then 'll continue what me and baby sis started, fun eh?" He taunted, kicking her with each venomous word, Buffy contorted, spitting blood to the warehouse floor. Shuddering, she attempted to dim her own pain, to concentrate on how to evade his combat boots, which were slowly turning her insides into bruised organ mush.

"You know what your problem is Spike?" Buffy gritted, snarling as his boot crashed down on her forearm, snapping it. Spike looked down at the hurt Slayer, devious glee shining in his feral gaze.

"What, Slayer?" He asked wryly, pounding another kick towards her already well abused abdomen.

"You talk too much," She snatched his leg mid air, using it to spin the master vampire and with a mean crack he landed against the stone floor. Smirking smugly the blonde jumped to her feet in a quick flip, her green eyes hard and glassy with rage. She sneered, attacking the vampire with no hesitance, a blood lust akin to those she hunted brimming in her crazed expression.

"Oh, dear, is the Slayer mad?" Spike chortled, blood leaking from his split lip. "Pity luv, ' wanted to finish you off slow like, guess 'll save that for sis…" Laughing, he dodged her hazardous attacked, missing her rain of one armed punches by mere inches. Funny, he didn't remember itty bitty Buffy being such a rough player; last time they'd encountered each other he'd clearly had the upper hand. With one injured arm, though, it was only a matter of time.

"Buffy?" That was Willow's voice, high pitched, imploring. "Buffy??"

"Oh goody," Spike toned in dry mirth, "The prat gang is here," he lunged at the Slayer, miffed as she side rolled and kicked him efficiently across his clean shaven jaw. Damn, she was faster than he recalled too.

"Don't move," said a trying to be firm, but still fearful Dawn, her arm braced around the front of Spike's leather duster, her hand fisted around Buffy's discarded stake. "Or I'll dust you." Even_ she_ noticed the lack of conviction in that statement, but she held steady, determination and doubt playing a morbid teeter totter in her brain. Spike went to pull the simpering brat off him, but she dug the wooden spike into his back, right around the heart area, and he stilled, eyes narrowing calculatingly.

"Dawn pet," he tried for his best coaxing persona, "put down the stake like a good girl, or 'll tear off your arms."

"Dawn, dust him," Buffy implored, eyeing her sibling meaningfully. Dawn's confused gaze flickered between the taller stronger vampire in her arms, and her sister, the all powerful Slayer.

If Dawn was Buffy, Spike would be a dust pile by now, but she wasn't Buffy, and sadly, she had no intention of _becoming _Buffy, she'd had enough heart to hearts with Willow to know the blonde Chosen One had never fully recovered from staking Angel that one time, and she didn't need that sort of emotional trauma haunting her psyche. Sure, she didn't _love _Spike, not in that way, but she couldn't dust him, he was her friend, and something was terribly wrong with him, she just _knew_ it.

"Don't move," she hissed, as the peroxide blonde shifted, adding a meaningful jab of sharp wood to emphasize her point. Spike winced, then he growled, a low vibrating sound that she could feel through her whole body, as tightly pressed as they were.

"Buffy! Dawn! Oh….Oh shit," the witch breathed weakly. Willow had finally located the sounds of the scuffle, and her eyes rapidly took in the scenario before her. The genteel red head looked quite taken aback, only moving to catch a madly dashing Xander and prevent him from running head first into the battle arena. He frowned, and then echoed his friend's exclamation. Anya stayed behind, watching, hiding.

"Crap, Dawnie, stake the blood sucker already," Xander wheezed, out of breath, leaning on his knees for support.

"Yes, pet, don't be coy," Spike taunted candidly, "Do sis proud." His tone was icy, mocking, and disdainful. Dawn shuddered but stayed put, her hazel eyes misting with divided loyalties. She felt like her heart was breaking, this was _Spike_ damn it. Passions watching Spike, the guy who liked sarcastic wit and tolerated her more than her sister or her friends ever had time for, he was the one who held her when she cried over Buffy's death, and she didn't understand why she was the only one in the room who understood that, who placed value on it. It wasn't fair!

"I _can't_," she whimpered, feeling be fret, "You don't understand, he's my _friend_," she ignored Spike's disbelieving snort, and focused on Buffy and her friends, begging them to understand. Buffy's eyes softened and she met Dawn's pleading and now slightly crying stare with sisterly compassion.

"Dawnie, he _was_ your friend," there was no disguising the disgust the Buffy felt at admitting this aloud, "but not anymore. Friends don't kidnap other friends." She glared at the master vampire in question, hating him fiercely for putting her sibling through this much turmoil, "If I hadn't shown up, he might've bitten you." Dawn emitted a choked sob, not finding it in herself to admit he'd _already_ bitten her; that little fact would certainly not help her case.

"Can't we help him?" She begged, "Can't we try?" The stony look from her sister told her more certainly than any words that no one had really seen that as an option to begin with. It made her angry. Damn it, if this was Angel, Buffy would try.

"Er, I hate to be sayin' this niblet, seein' as you've gone all noble and the like," Spike toned in acidic sarcasm, "but you better be makin' a choice, else 'll be makin' it for you." His warning was brimming with lethal intent. What was the chit's malfunction? She was _pleading_ with the Slayer, over _him_ no less, was the girl daft? He'd as sooner drink them all dry than show her the same mercy, stupid bint; she made Dru look damned near _sane_. No sense of self preservation, that was a mighty fine way to end up dead in the Hellmouth.

"Shut up Spike," Buffy spat, taking a stake from Willow, "Dawn, move." She ordered in the 'I am not to be contradicted way', if her sister couldn't handle what needed to be done, then she'd take the decision from her, and do it herself. She eyed the brunette with a gaze of steely determination.

"No," Dawn insisted stubbornly, "You don't understand, he doesn't remember! Not Dru leaving, not the chip, _nothing_, what if this is some big plot by somebody else? What if someone wants him dead?" She voiced her earlier doubts, ignoring Spike's grumbled complaints that they were all friggin' loony.

"Dawn," Buffy huffed, halting her approach, "He's a _vampire_, it was only a matter of time before he turned on us, why do you think I warned you away from him?"

"Yeah, Dawnie," Willow pleaded, "He's all baddie now, we're sorry, but we _won't_ let him hurt anyone else."

"Listen to your sister," Xander added, loyal to Buffy all the way through.

"Decide, tid bit," Spike growled, "I meant what I said 'bout your arms." He added the last mostly to taunt Buffy, who rose to the bait predictably, walking in determined strides towards the master vampire and the sniffling hazel eyed girl, a stake poised and ready to dust him. Wide, liquid brown-green eyes met her sibling's feral emerald, and with another choked sob, Dawn mouthed, 'I'm so sorry…' and the stake she held clattered to the ground.

"About bloody time!" Spike roared, hauling the chit around him in a forceful tug. His sapphire blue eyes danced with triumph as Buffy was forced once more to halt, murder shining in that stunned green glare.

"Let her go, Spike," Buffy demanded coldly, "You're no match for the three of us."

"All the more reason to take one down with me, eh pet?" Spike ran a hand down the trembling and imprisoned girl's face, chortling as she flushed and defiantly turned her head away from him, "Ain't this peachy, tid bit? Bet your wishin' you'd staked me when you 'ad the chance, eh?" Dawn felt like she was going to throw up. It'd been a gamble, anyway, a stupid one… Like Spike would really back down. It'd been a desperate hope, foolish. Maybe the Spike she knew would've; but she was quickly learning the Spike from her memories and the one before her now were two very different creatures.

"How 'bout this Slayer," Spike grinned, hugging the Chosen One's sister to him, enjoying the scent of her fear, he licked a salty tear drop from her cheek with a swipe of his tongue, smirking at the revulsion this provoked from both sisters. "I'm feelin' generous, so'll make a deal. You watch me and baby sis 'ere walk out all peaceful like, and _maybe_ I won't snap little Dawnie's neck like a toothpick." He vamped out, eyes feral and amber, ridges pronounced, and softly removed the hair from the captured chit's neck, meeting the Slayer's stare meaningfully.

"Shit, why the hell…" At Willow's reprimanding look Xander swallowed what he'd been about to say, which was something rather not nice about the side Dawn seemed to have chosen.

"She's a kid Xander," Willow said softly, her heart going out to the girl, "Don't worry Dawn, we'll save you." Dawn had to smile, albeit weakly, at Willow's never ending optimism.

"I have a better deal, you let her go, and I'll dust you quickly," Buffy half growled, her eyes narrowed in calculation, circling the master vampire. Spike smirked, and with a candid shrug his grip tightened.

"'ave it your way, luv," He retorted with a feral grin, flashing deadly and lethally sharp fangs. With no more ado he bit the brat, sinking fang deep into her jugular. Dawn cried out in agony, feeling the world swirl as he took deep drinks from her veins; she'd lost too much blood already, it was too soon for another draining. Slowly but surely the world swam into a fizzy blackness, darkness ebbing at her vision. The last thing she heard before her eyes drifted closed was Buffy's enraged scream. Her last panicked thought was, _I'm dying_….

**A/N: **Is it wrong to love Spike at his Biggest and Baddest? I hope not. I like the Spuffy pairing too, but I felt a Spike-Dawn (I think Spawn is a horrible shortening) would be more my style. Buffy's awesome, but she gets hung up on that me-slayer and you-vamp thing too much. More evil Spiky goodness to come! And as always, review at your leisure.

Spike: She means review now. Or I bite you.

Buffy: Then I stake _you_.

Dawn: *Fed up* YOU GUYS!


	2. Chapter 2

**Dusk to Dawn**

**A/N: ** Okay, so I've been spending my weekends watching Angel, and am obsessed with writing this fiction, just don't tell my Brutal Passions fans, I'm already receiving death threats about updating *sweat drop*. This chapter is fun, bloody, sexy, and full of bad boys with Fangs. Yum. Enjoy. Savor. Love. Or click out, either way.

**Warning**: As Spike might say 'I don't give a bleeding damn if you don't like it, luv, this is how I write.' In other words, graphic language, kinky insinuations, and bite and suck galore! Don't read it if you're all nice-y nice with a fragile mind of innocence, it may scar you.

_I lost my mind, but found the pieces  
I taped them together, during recess  
But the playgrounds bloody, no one will laugh  
Why do people scream, when you cut them in half?_

_-From Drusilla's diary, aptly titled 'The Wit of the Witless' On sale at loony bins across the nation._

"No, no, NO!" A girly, hysterical voice screamed. In her rage she destroyed everything in her path, eyes blazing with madness, clawing at everything from wood to stone, destruction calmed the voices, made them sing.

"Ms. Edith is _not_ happy!" she shrieked, sobbing, sliding to the floor and holding her head. God it hurt, it hurt so _bad_. Too much _light_, where had all the light come from?

"Oh my, did it not go well?" enquired a dry, emotionless voice. The female vampire stared through her tangled black hair with murderous eyes.

"LIAR!!" She shrieked, attacking blindly, screaming as a burst of magic tossed her into a wall. She straightened, licking the blood on her now injured wrist, crouched like a cat.

"You said he'd be _dead_, you said!" She cried hotly, ignoring the whispers, what did the voices know? She needed him dead, she needed it.

"Yes well, I expected the Slayer to be more competent," the Magician explained in relative calmness, "It appears we have an unforeseen complication."

"The key, she's touching _my_ Spiky! Keys and jingles, damn the door!" She was ranting now, switching from sing-song to malice in mere moments. The Magician's lip curled in disgust.

"I thought you wanted him dead," he pointed out wryly. Dru graced him with a sneer.

"Dead-dead," she sang sweetly, "Yes, we want him dead. But the key mustn't _touch_! Ms. Edith doesn't like it! She ruins the fun, is done, the key, the key…" The grey fifty something man rolled his eyes at her crazy dramatics, helping the mad vampire up from the floor.

"Poor thing," he cooed, "Abandoned by both your protectors, such a shame." He smirked, "Don't fret; I'll finish the job myself." She nodded, grasping him like a small child. He cradled her accommodatingly, wary of her proximity to his neck.

"Hungry…" she moaned. He frowned, and snapped his fingers, dispatching a minion to procure her some food. Vampires were such droll creatures, but this one had proven useful. Of course, he still planned on killing her, having a crazy vampress hanging around was just bad business. After he killed Spike, and rid himself of that nasty little prophecy of course.

-*-

Dawn awoke feeling like someone slammed her upside the head with a bag of bricks. Her head pounded, her mouth was dry and tasted like dust and copper. With a groan she came to, blinking at her surroundings, taking them in slowly. She was in Spike's black De Soto, her wrists duck taped to the side of the car, legs tied, with him driving at a pace best described as 'break neck', and she hoped with a morbid inward chuckle that the descriptive wasn't too aptly given. He'd survive a car crash, she wouldn't.

Blue eyes narrowed, and he shot her an unreadable look through narrowed lids, "Welcome back to the world of the livin' tid bit." He barked out a short laugh at his own sense of humor, hands locking at the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip. Dawn groaned as a street light beamed into her retina, increasing the pounding in her head to that of a painful drum solo on her every nerve ending.

Timidly, her mind a whirling mass of confusion and remembered flashes, she questioned the vampire beside her, "Did Buffy…" she winced, "Is my sister okay?" His nefarious chuckle was hardly reassuring. He shot her a narrowed eyed glare, blue eyes burning, seemingly irritated. She returned his gaze with stubborn demand.

"Oi, luv, you're something else," he shook his head, "The Slayer lives," he frowned, adding with ire, "unfortunately." Dawn let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, resting her head on the cool glass of the car window with a sigh.

"Course I banged her up pretty bad, didn' exactly check her pulse, but I figure the fates jus' ain't that decent," He smirked, eyeing the mortal beside him warily, she was looking at him with in intense speculation, it irked him, "Don't be thinkin' 'bout funny stuff, niblet, you're only here in case of an emergency snack." He told her this arrogantly, but there was a tension to him, a faltering unease that wasn't there before. Dawn knew him well enough to see it.

"Spike…" she flinched as he growled, his arm griping her jugular in a warning pressure.

"No talkin' from the appetizer," he demanded; his voice brokering no argument. She sighed, pressing her lips together, letting out a shaky exhale of relief when he released her and went back to driving. Still feeling dizzy, she obliged his command, leaning back against the window and letting her eyes flutter shut. She only opened them again when, after a long bout of tense silence, the vampire flicked on the radio and began switching the stations.

"Oh! That's my favorite!" She burst out, and just as swiftly horror descended across her expression, as she quickly recalled his 'no talking' rule. He let out a dark chuckle, gracing her with a narrowed eyed stare.

"Daft wench…" he muttered to himself, but she noticed he left the song on.

She settled back, eyeing him in stolen glances now that his concentration was back on the road. Dawn had a million questions, starting with where they were going, and not least of which, why he'd dragged her along. It didn't seem to bode well; he wasn't in any way showing signs of being his usual obnoxious self. No, this Spike was angry, arrogant, deadly, cruel… She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth, was he only keeping her around to torture her to death? That sort of sounded like the Spike she'd heard about, and the whole 'midnight snack' thing seemed to go right around those lines. God, she felt like an idiot, what had possessed her to drop that stake?

But she knew. She just wouldn't admit it, not even to herself. Not ever. It would destroy her.

"Spike…" his luminescent blue stare pinned her with displeasure, she knew this was risky, attempting to reason with him had not gone well so far, "I just… Would you…"

"Spit it out, chit," he growled, pale features illuminating in a glow of a fleeting street light, "'m losin' patience mighty quick."

"I want to make a deal," she said in a rush, echoing his words from earlier. He arched an eyebrow at her, a smile toying at the corner of his lips.

"Ah… and you think you're in a position to bargain pet?" He enquired with some light hearted hostility. She frowned, brow wrinkling at his callousness, but went ahead anyway.

"If I can prove that you are under some sort of spell, or someone messed with your head, will you consider letting me go?" She demanded, forcing bravado into her tone. How did Buffy always sound so sure of herself? She was certain she sounded like a whiny brat. He frowned, staring at the road, saying nothing for so long she thought he might just ignore her.

"What do I gain from that?" he enquired disdainfully, "Look, luv, I don' know what's gotten into everybody's bloody heads lately, but I _like_ bein' evil, _love it_ as a matter of fact. I don' wanna be some love sick prat, and definitely no' a simpering sod at the damned Slayer's beck and call. So I ask you, what does any o' that get _me_?" Dawn slumped, she hadn't really considered that he wouldn't _want_ to know what was really going on, it seemed like the _only_ person who missed the old Spike was her and her alone. How depressing. Not to mention lonely.

"Sheesh, are you _cryin'_?" He demanded in disgust, which of course only lead to more tears. She sniffled, rubbing her face on her tied wrists and pointedly turning away from him, to save herself the embarrassment. He sighed, a long suffering sigh.

"Bloody 'ell, you tell _anyone_ 'bout this I'll wring that scrawny neck," he muttered, gently patting the human on the head, she didn't turn, but his acute hearing picked up on her pathetic sniffles. Soothingly he ran his hand down her soft brown locks, hating that it felt so nice between his fingers, trailing it to her shoulders and repeating, letting himself just give into his whim. Damn chit, why did he give a rat's ass if she was blubbering? He should toss her out of the vehicle and be done; he wasn't nobody's freakin' babysitter! He was the Big Bad for Christ's sake!

"Y-your really going to kill me, aren't you?" she whispered in despair. He rolled his eyes, hand turning white on the steering wheel. Damn right, is what he should say, he should fill her pretty little head with all the horrors a nightmare like him could do to a little innocent girl like her. Especially since she was the bitch of a Slayer's sister. Still, he recalled her trembling behind him, the clatter of the stake as she _saved him_, she was probably a grade a loony, but for some reason she'd risked herself to save his life. Damn uncomfortable, owing a human brat such a debt. Twice.

"No' if you behave," he muttered. She didn't respond, still huddled and nestled to the side of his car like a child. "Hear me? I said no; now quit the bloody water works." He said the last in demand, he couldn't take this shit. In response, the female bint _sobbed_. He let out an irritated sigh.

"Kay…" she murmured, but didn't turn. He told himself she could drown in her simpering tears for all he cared, changing the subject in an effort to allay his discomfort at having been _nice_. Sheesh, next he really would be pining over the Slayer like the prat they all claimed he was, this had to stop. The Big Bad was _not_ nice.

"Now luv, before we were so rudely interrupted, you were about to tell me what's in that blood o' yours," he smirked, licking his lips. She was like the holy grail of blood donors; he'd never encountered such a filling drink before. And wow, what a punch! Like a human riding on meth, it made him feel invincible, all powerful, like nothing could match him. One good drink from her, and he'd been wiping her sodding sister around that warehouse like a rag doll. It felt brilliant, and he wanted to know _why_.

"Spike…" she groaned.

"Niblet…" He mocked snidely, "Now's not the time to be stingy, pet, or maybe'll jus' forget 'bout that whole sparing your life bit." He gave her a spine chilling look, letting her know how easy he'd kill her, how much pleasure he'd get from it. It appeared to work, if the pallid look of terror she got was any indication. He smirked, lovely; at least he hadn't lost his touch.

Dawn stared out the window, watching the blurring scenery with unseeing eyes. How to put in words what she felt such bitter resentment towards? Where to start? She sighed, closing her eyes. "I'm not human."

Spike choked on surprise, eyebrows lifting, "Nice try luv, next please." He retorted with blatant disbelief and sarcasm. Dawn turned from the window, eyes narrowed and flinty, it was the most malevolent expression he'd seen her with since meeting her in his crypt the night before.

"I'm not," she hissed, fists clenching where they were bound. She sagged, as if the energy had suddenly come and gone. "I'm a fucking _key_." There was so much rage, so much self disgust in that statement that he shot her a sideways glance.

"A key?" He repeated blankly, "Like a bit o' metal ya stick in a door and wa-la, open?" Her expression turned dark, stony.

"Yeah," she snapped, "Just like that. Except I'm a housing for mythical energy from the powers-that-be that just happens to open another dimension full of nasty demons and there-by brings about the next apocalypse." She shot him a searing glare. "I'm just a fucking magical tool, made by _monks_; Buffy's not even my _real _sister."

Spike managed a weak chuckle, "Good one luv, but seriously…" He trailed off; noticing she'd started the water works again. "Oh for the love of… What _now_?"

"I knew it," she toned darkly, "you were just being nice before cuz you liked Buffy, I knew…" she sniffled, her tone changing to a mocking snivel, "poor pathetic Dawnie, not human, not _real_, just a big fucking _nothing_. I should've died, not Buffy, people _missed _Buffy." Her voice was bitter, and suddenly she sounded way older than the bratty teen he'd been dragging around since this mess began.

"Stop talkin' in riddles," he demanded coldly, "what's all this trash 'bout not bein' anything, didn' ya see the Slayer rushin' to your side, playing heroine? Didn' look ta me like you weren't nothing." He eyed her meaningfully, willing to give her that much. Dawn snorted.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, dismissing the matter. "For a minute I forgot who I was talking to." She settled back, silent, as if that ended matters.

"Oh, and what's that mean?" He uttered with malice, shooting her a frigid blue eyed glare. Dawn turned an affronted hazel stare at her capture, gnashing her teeth in angst.

"It _means_," she retorted, "that you don't remember. You don't know what it was like. _Everyone_ just sort of fell apart without Buffy," she gifted him a sneering smirk, "even you, and no hitting me for saying so, it's _true_." She sighed, "I wasn't _supposed_ to live, I was supposed to close the portal, end it, everyone would've been way happier. Now Buffy's a wreck from dying and coming back, and let's face it, everyone else would've gotten over me way easier." She laughed, but the sound was bitter, without humor. "Nobody even gave a shit about where I went until she came back."

"And where'd you go, pet?" He asked, unable to help himself, curious about the chit's maddened ravings, because they _almost_ sounded familiar. She grinned wistfully, shuttering herself off from her own inner battle to give him an almost normal expression.

"Your place," she said matter-of-factly. For some reason, her cheeky smile earned her a smirk from him; he didn't entirely mind the idea of the little vixen in his lair, although he'd have brought her to the _bed_, not the couch. She was a little young, perhaps, but he wasn't a fecking saint. He'd done far worse to far younger.

After his initial reaction Spike grew contemplative, drawing with-in himself. He wanted to call her a liar, say that he'd _never_ harbor a silly twit of a mortal child with any other intention than a mind numbing romp-and-bite, or maybe if what she said was true, a tasty power laced human toy to keep on hand (and knowing himself) most likely torture. Still, he'd lived long enough to know a lie when he heard it and whether she was bonkers or not, _she_ believed she was telling the truth. And then there was the fact that she'd been there when he'd woken up, and Dru hadn't been. Not to mention that _everyone_ seemed to be in on this in the entire town of Sunnydale, it was either a very elaborate ploy or they were _all _telling the truth. But that didn't sit right, not at all.

_Maybe_he could accept that he and this silly wench knew each other before this. She seemed pretty decent as humans go, hell, she was even amusing, unintentionally, but it was there. He could even accept the whole bizarre, 'I'm a key' rant, liked the idea of the Slayer biting the big one a little too much, and it definitely explained the power in the girl's blood. However, this nonsense about his infatuation with the Slayer was absolutely friggin beyond his realm of possibilities, as was his turning on every fun evil deed he'd ever done, all supposedly because of this stupid 'love the Slayer' kick everyone was so keen to point out. The Big Bad did _not _go goody two shoes, he shuddered, it was too awful to contemplate. He was a Slayer _killer_, for hell's sake!

A low grumble wrenched him from his thoughts.

"Did you just _growl_?" He demanded archly, no longer in any mood to be lenient. She worried her lip, a light flush on her pale cheeks.

"Nope, that was my stomach," she muttered. Oh, right. Humans and food, he really _was_ turning into a babysitter. He graced her with a sneer.

"Tough luck," he gritted. She shrugged, turning back to staring out the window despondently. He sighed.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled, making his way to an off-ramp. Tit for tat he explained to himself, justifying his actions to himself with the reassurance that he was only keeping her healthy so she'd be recovered enough to open a vein the next time he felt inclined. Yeah, right.

-*-

"Buffster?" Xander questioned tentatively to the huddled mass of blankets. A female voice groaned. "Wills! Buffy's waking up!" He called through the open doorway.

"Turn off the T.V.," the half slumbering Slayer insisted. Xander grinned wryly, turning to the doorway, surprised to see Anya and not Willow. She gave him a smile, looking past his shoulder to the slowly awakening Slayer.

"Dawn's still missing," Anya said, in her usual manner of being the queen of bad timing. Xander paled, giving Anya the 'not yet!' signal. She rolled her eyes, "What? Look, _that_ got her up."

Sure enough, a blonde head was now poking out of the mass of quilts, blurry green eyes trying to focus. Buffy felt like refried dog shit, and it was a very unpleasant sensation. Vaguely she pieced the last things she remembered together, trying to recall what had gotten her up so alarmingly.

"Shit!" She exclaimed, making Xander jump at the suddenness, "How long have I been out?"

"A day, and uh… half a night," he told her, looking pitiful. "Spike went underground for the daylight, and now…" he swallowed, "his De Soto's missing. We've called _everyone_, even Angel; they're all on the lookout for a murderous Spike, and a hostage Dawnie." His shoulders slumped, feeling horrible as his best friend let out a tiny mewl of pain and dropped back onto the bed, clearly not fully recovered. Buffy bit her lip, noting at least four of her ribs were broken. When she got a hold of Spike, she was going to give him a piece of her fist.

"You'll reopen the injuries," Anya tsked. Buffy shot her a glare.

"I don't care," she voiced angrily, "I _have_ to get Dawn," she winced, "if he hasn't..." She broke off, looking completely dejected. The rest was implication enough, i_f he hasn't killed her already_.

"That's not going to happen," Anya said, shocking everyone, including Willow, who had just shown up in the doorway. She placed her hands on her hips, "Well? It's not." She insisted as they all shot her looks of incredulous disbelief.

"What makes you say that?" Buffy demanded carefully, denying herself the capacity for hope.

Hope lead to disappointment, disappointment to despair, if Dawn was gone… Well, she knew what she'd do, but she wasn't about to make it public knowledge. People got all weird when you told them you were contemplating suicide, which she had been, _a lot_. Only the thought of leaving Dawn alone stopped her, everyone else would be sad, but they could handle themselves, Dawn was just a kid, and well…

Buffy _knew_ she hadn't paid her sister enough attention lately, why else would the teen choose to spend her nights in a creepy vampire crypt? She'd been searching for companionship, and Buffy blamed herself for Dawn's choosing such an extreme substitute for normal friends. Hadn't she been through a similar thing in high school? As a Slayer, without Giles, Xander, and Willow she would've _never_ made it. Normal high schoolers didn't _get _her, and she should've known Dawn would feel the same way, to an extent, and she didn't have a close knit group of friends to dish to. To Buffy's knowledge Dawn didn't have _anyone_ like that, and despite their efforts, the Scooby gang had never quite accepted her as one of them.

"Cause Spike's practical," Anya informed them haughtily, they all gave her a look of mute confusion. "Oh hell, do I _have_ to spell it out? What was Spike's number one goal when he was all Big Bad?" She demanded, hands on her hips.

"Killing Buffy," Willow supplied slowly, hesitantly. Anya gave her a wide satisfied grin.

"Bingo," she exclaimed, "And what better Slayer bait than her little sister?" She eyed them all with a smug expression.

"That's it, that's your big reason?" Buffy demanded irritably, "That's stupid. He knows I'll come after him, even _if_ he kills Dawn." Anya shrugged.

"That's what I get for trying to be an optimist," She said with a roll of her eyes, giving Xander a meaningful look. Apparently someone was trying to school the ex-vengeance demon on tact; she was still horrible at it though. Said 'someone' added his two cents in defense of his girlfriend.

"You know, Anya has a point, if he wanted her dead, he could've killed her in the warehouse, but he er… took her with him." He shuddered, "Poor Dawn."

"And you just let him walk away with my sister?" Buffy asked in cold rage. Willow shook her head, speaking up with conviction.

"No way Buffy, we _tried_ to stop him, but he just went super vamp and practically _killed_ you, we barely managed to save your life," she looked like she might have burst into tears, "We tried, but he was so _fast_. I've never seen Spike move so quickly. D-do you hate us?" Buffy sighed, sitting up with a gritted wince, and opening her arms up to her now silently weeping best friend.

"Hate you? No way Wills, if you say you tried your best, then you tried your best," She spoke with determination. "We just have to hope Anya's right, and that when we find Spike, he'll still have Dawn alive." Willow nodded, wiping the few tears that had fallen off her face in embarrassment. Buffy sighed, wracking her still tired mind.

"First things first, I want to talk to Angel, he probably knows Spike better than any of us," Buffy said, all business. This sent them into a frenzy of motion. Willow went to report to Giles, Xander grabbed Buffy a telephone, and Anya, well, she just sort of trailed Xander.

Meanwhile Buffy stewed; her mind a torrent of the horrible deaths she had planned for the Big Bad for even _looking_ at her sister. Dawn wasn't a Slayer, she wouldn't be able to even fight back, and yes, she _might_ still be alive, but what if he did _other_ things to her? Giles had filled her in on William the Bloody's history, he was a monster, and death was only one of the few punishments a deadly master vampire could doll out. If he harmed her in any other way, Buffy's eyes slitted, she'd rip his undead throat out.

"Whoa, evil looking Buffs," Xander commented, phone in hand. "What's with the death stare?"

"Just thinking about Spike," she said matter-of-factly, she raised a hand in silent demand, "Phone, please."

-*-

"You know…" Dawn stated carefully, eyeing the master vampire across from her warily, "French fries go down easier if you'd _stop_ _glaring at me_." Ever five seconds the Big Bad had been giving her a look like he was considering tearing her head off, it was such a drastic change from how nice he'd been untying her and feeding her that it was giving her emotional whip lash.

Blue eyes narrowed, murder shining in those clear blue depths, "Eat your food, quietly." Dawn sighed, smearing a dollop of ketchup on one limp McDonalds fry and eating the salty goodness. Damn but the food was _wonderful_, which was probably the result of not having eaten since…Well; being unconscious had sort of skewed her time concept. She was certain this wasn't the same night as when she and Spike had been found by Buffy, twice, but she wasn't sure how many nights had passed since then and her waking up in Spike's car. Not many, she hoped desperately, wishing she knew where Spike was taking her.

Wishing she felt certain he wouldn't kill her the first time she got on his nerves.

She rose, and had to stifle a girly yelp as one pale hand yanked her knee, plopping her down on the plastic seat with enough force to jar her. "What was _that_ for?" Churlish, she was so _tired_ of being kidnapped.

"Where do you think you're goin' pet?" He demanded darkly, in a lower voice, sure it wouldn't carry, not sure why he cared if it did, he added, "Remember luv, I'm only generous as long as you oblige the rules, try and double cross me, and well…" he let the sadistic intent glow in his fathomless blue orbs. Dawn swallowed her last French fry, her mouth suddenly going desert dry.

"I get it…" She muttered mulishly, "I just have to pee." Her hazel eyes looked anywhere but at the master vampire she spoke to as she admitted the last. God, how embarrassing was it to ask permission for something like that?

He stood, glowering, and yanked her with him, leaving her tray behind with little care for overworked fast food employees. She stumble against him, in his hast he'd yanked too hard, and felt her pulse jump at the proximity.

He chuckled in devious mirth, "Like that, do ya luv?" He taunted. She stiffened in outrage, but he denied her a response, one arm wrapping her too him in superior inhuman strength. "We'll play later," he whispered in evil conspiracy into the shell of her ear, "but first things first, the loo awaits." He gestured with mock chivalry for her to lead the way, blue eyes sparking with lust. Damned chit was too pretty for her own good, nice curves, and of course, delicious blood. Dawn shuddered, feeling a chill on the back of her neck.

When they reached the bathroom doors she practically flew in, slamming and locking it behind her. Her pulse was erratic, her breath felt too hot, heavy, and the sensation was almost painful but not. Spike's words echoed through her head 'we'll play later'. Ugh. She _so_ did _not_ want to be a tag along juice box for the Big Bad. She missed her bed, her friends, her sister, heck, she even missed _school_. Testament to how topsy turvy the world had gotten in the past few nights. Plus, there was this little traitorous thrill in her body that seemed to ignite at the scent of cigars and copper, the feel of leather, the smoldering look of those blue eyes…

She shook her head forcibly; _no way_ was she thinking that. It was probably a minor case of stokehold syndrome or something, because evil baddie vamps were the ultimate no-no. Besides, _if_ they ever got Spike back to his normal morose and less evil self, he'd just be totally gooey eyed for Buffy again, and all the insinuations he'd made were based on his completely forgetting that whole period of his life, or unlife, whatever. For heaven's sake the vamp thought he still loved Dru! The uber icky vampress with a side of crazy.

"Tick tock luv," called a menacing British accent.

Dawn sighed, running her hand through her hair, splashing water on her face, but the nasty marks on her neck caught her eye. Bruises from almost being strangled, and _two_ bite marks, one for either side, abso-fucking-lutely lovely. Shaking fingers traced the marks, and she swallowed bile, _this_ is what she meant to the peroxide blonde lurking beyond that door. That, and nothing else, and only a fool would forget it. She was no fool, she was sick of being weak little emotional Dawnie. She needed to get away from Spike; he was trouble with a capital Big Bad, and staying around as his lackey blood donor was not on her agenda. She'd thought she could help him, save him, do something _right_ for once, but it turned out the universe only wanted one Summer's savoir, and it wasn't her. Would probably _never_ be her. She was useless, again.

"Whoa luv," she tried to barrel past him, determination burning in her hallow stare, but he latched onto her forearm, yanking her towards him with a sneer. Dawn glared, shrugging off his hold and dutifully trailed the tall vampire out of the florescent sanctuary of the McDonalds. She'd play nice, for now, she wasn't stupid, she couldn't over power the blonde brute, she'd have to be sneaky.

"Wrists," Spike demanded, popping up from where he'd been rummaging through his trunk. His almost white blonde hair glimmered in the street light, blue eyes stern and yet hypnotic. Dawn's eyes narrowed, she crossed her arms defiantly.

"You're _not_ tying me up," she informed him haughtily, bracing her arms in the nook of her elbows for strength. He glowered, crowding her with his massive and enraged frame, eyeing her with malice. She could almost taste his smell, like earth, dust, smoke, and something primal, something evil. His pale features twisted into intense displeasure.

"Oh-ho, you're ordering me around now niblet? That's a laugh," He easily pulled her arms forward, his pale features twisted in promised vengeance. Dawn winced, her wrists were way raw from first rusty shackles; and then duct tape, not that _he_ cared. He looped the rope around the slender limbs, yanking the rough rope harder than needed, smirking at her yelp of pain.

"Don't get smart with me pet, I reckon you know what I could do to you," he growled, slamming her against the car, his eyes burning in rage, "Tyin' you up is the least of it. Next time you get it into that pretty lil' head to start talkin' back, you'll be _lucky_ to get off with a few bruises. We clear?" He pulled her forward, slamming her against the metal side door roughly, "I _said_, are-we-clear?" Dawn felt sick, like all that greasy food might come up the way it went in, but she nodded, eyes tight with contained anger.

"Peachy," he muttered, hauling her by her tied wrists and slamming her into the passenger seat. In disarray from being tossed around like human luggage, Dawn glared daggers at her kidnapper, yelping as he almost slammed the door on her legs. Fiend, ass, degenerate, her mind seethed in outrage.

"Don't look at me like that precious, it gets me all hot," he teased warningly as she continued to eye him with sullen outrage. Thinking he wasn't really paying her attention, as he was at the very moment going for his pack of smokes, she used the opportunity to stick out her tongue at the nefarious antagonist. He growled, snatching the extended tongue in between two long pale fingers. Dawn stilled, seeing sadistic intrigue shining thoughtfully in the stare he gave her.

"Next time, I rip it out," he growled, releasing her and lighting a cigarette. Dawn pressed herself as close to the door, and as far away from him as possible. Freaking weirdo, insane blonde vampire, she ranted for a while, until she felt sleep beckoning, and while a nagging little voice warned her to stay alert, unconsciousness claimed her none-the-less. She hadn't had a proper rest that didn't involve passing out from blood loss in so long; her body just succumbed to its own needs.

-*-

"Spiky evil, not evil, evil, not evil, evil…." Drusilla plucked the nails from the screaming human's hand with sadistic glee; the ripped skin bled wonderfully, and he screamed to high heaven, but with a smirk, Drusilla knew heaven wasn't listening. Sighing, she realized she'd run out of fingernails, the stupid twerp was much such a racket she could barely hear herself _think_.

"Shut UP!" She shrieked unexpectedly, biting the man's jugular and draining him dry, gulp by greedy gulp. He cried until the last, and in petulant dissatisfaction she kicked his now drained body. She stepped away from the human corpse with a lick of her lips. "Nice, tasty even." Her expression turned crest fallen in an instant. "I miss playing with Spiky…."

"Well then, shall I give him to you then, to dispose of?" a cultured voice supplied. Dru, dressed in a shockingly white baby doll gown clapped her hands, squealing with glee. The magician rolled his eyes, sometimes she was just too simplistic, it made him wonder how William and Angelus had suffered her company for so many centuries. His minions informed him that the blonde vampire was reverting to his usual predictable self, running to his sire now that he realized that everyone else knew things he did not. The magician smirked, vampires, you'd think with all those years of being alive, in a manner of speaking, that they'd be more creative.

"Can I have the key, please, pretty please with blood on top?" Dru asked, greedy desire flickering in her sallow profile. The magician turned thoughtful. He'd had to do a little digging to find this Dawn Summers, she was such a minor player, and yet not, the powers-that-be never put so much power in one being for just _one_ purpose. Since her self sacrificing sister had so keenly negated the usage for that power, perhaps he could find a more suitable use for such blatant mystic energy. With the right spell, he might be able to harness…

"AHHHH!" Dru shrieked, pulling at her hair, falling to her knees. These episodes had increased lately, his lip curled in disdain, ignoring the writhing vampire squirm on the grimy basement floor.

"Dru," he smacked a power packed spell at her when she didn't respond, and the vampress blinked groggily. "That's right, pay close attention. You may have William," his nose crinkled, "disgusting undead vermin are no use to me. However, the girl, the key?" He waited until she nodded, showing her comprehension. "She's mine. I'll have some minions collect them both shortly, as I do believe I know where they are headed."

She grinned, maddened blood lust twisting her expression to a horrifying visage, "Killing Spiky, tra-la-la. What fun! A good game for a goodie two shoes prat!" She scowled, "He will regret leaving me, yes he will…"

The magician didn't point out that it was in fact _she_ that had left _him_, for now, her madness was suiting his needs perfectly. Speaking of needs, he best start concocting a potion for the human girl, something to keep her immobile, and accommodating, if she was as pretty as his spy claimed, he might avail himself of her before draining her power. He smiled, giddy now that he had his plan in motion.

-*-

"Where are we?" Dawn questioned in groggy trepidation. She'd had awful nightmares, about dark figures and red eyes, and pain, so much pain. Not to mention the crick in her neck, or the way her wrists burned every time she shifted even slightly. Spike gave her a superior look through the corner of his eyes.

"Isn't it obvious?" he gestured to the large neon sign his car had parked in front of, a seedy motel was the last place she wanted to be, especially in the company of the Big Bad. She scowled, readjusting her dirty t-shirt and thinking that maybe a shower and bed wouldn't be _too_ bad.

"Yes, but what are we doing here?" She demanded frostily. He sighed, giving her a dubious expression.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," he replied in a haughty tone. Dawn rolled her eyes.

"_So_ cliché," she muttered petulantly.

"I heard that," he growled, "if you prefer, you can spend the day getting cozy in the trunk, makes lil' difference to me." Dawn imagined a sunny L.A. day sweltering in the trunk of his car and shuddered, no thank you. Her expression must've conveyed how shudder inducing that image was because the master vampire chuckled darkly.

"That's a good pet," He told her condescendingly. Dawn scowled, waiting as he walked to her side of the car and opened the door. With a slice of his too long finger nails he freed her wrists, sighing impatiently as she examined the damage that had been inflicted on them.

"Now luv, do we need to go over how very bad it will be if you try an' get all 'help, save me from the baddie vampire?' Cuz I _will_ tear everyone in there a new jugular if need be, and then, pet, I'll handle _you_," His eyes clearly conveyed how much pleasure he could get from this scenario, and Dawn felt her blood run cold.

"Peachy," she muttered, imitating him with a defiant glare. He scowled, yanking her up by her hair. She stumbled onto the pavement, feeling abused and weary. "Should've staked him when I had the chance," she must've been still waking up because while she'd muttered this below the hearing range of any human, Spike heard her complaint loud and clear.

"Trunk it is then," he uttered maliciously, snagging her bicep and dragging her towards the back of the De Soto. Dawn's eyes widened in horror, trying to dig her sneakers into the pavement, anything to escape him. She kicked, clawed, all to no avail. He wrapped her entire frame in one arm, snapping open the trunk in a fluid motion, and Dawn let out a shriek of protest.

"No!" She squealed, struggling as he dropped her into the trunk. He smirked, shoving her down. "NO, please Spike, no…" she give him a wide fearful stare. "Please, I'll be good I swear, please don't…" He scowled, yanking her by her long brown hair so that his snarling image was pressed closed to hers.

"Give me one good reason," he growled, staring her down. Dawn swallowed, fear making her eyes water. He wouldn't do this, he couldn't, if it got too hot she might not be alive when he came back. Figuring that wasn't a convincing argument she wracked her brain for a reason he _shouldn't _be all Big Bad and evil.

"I _didn't_ stake you, you owe me," she told him stubbornly, he looked unconvinced, "besides, if you lock me up in there I _will_ scream to high heaven, and eventually someone might get curious." She was griping the sides of the trunk, trying to force her way out, he easily held her back with one arm. Stupid vampire super powers.

"Last warning," he held up his finger for emphasis, "next time I'll just suck you dry little girl, no more games." He lifted her out of the trunk effortlessly, setting her down beside him. Blue eyes scanned her disheveled appearance, the blood and grime coating her shirt and knees would draw attention.

"Wear this," he ordered, shoving his black jacket into her hands, "You get that dirty and 'll break a few o' your fingers, it's my favorite," he added darkly. Dawn nodded, slipping the heavy leather over her tattered t-shirt and closing it. It smelled like him, and his smokes, she hugged it to herself, unable to help the reaction. He'd let her wear his coat once before, although he obviously didn't remember, it was the night Buffy died, she'd curled up in it and cried herself to sleep. It was a good memory, tainted with grief, yes, but it was a memento of a _better_ Spike, the snarky Brit who'd treated her like a kid sister, and not a worthless side dish.

Spike noticed the chit inhaling his coat and hugging it; he scowled, but refrained from comment. Crazy wench. Stalking up to the hotel's entrance, he wrapped one arm around her slim little hips, smirking at the meek little surprise she displayed at the contact. At least she was being submissive, he hated people questioning him, especially now, when he still wasn't sure what the feck was going on.

"Act like you like it luv," he instructed as she tried to ease some space between them, "anyone gets the wrong idea, and I'll use them as a snack, understand?" He whispered it into her ear, smelling her fear, not bothering to mention that he was in fact still full, even though he hadn't eaten at all tonight.

Must be that girl's blood, it was _filling_, a useful thing to have around in a pinch. He eyed her appreciatively as they sauntered in, telling himself he was trying to unnerve her, ignoring the way his cock liked the feel of her lush little curves against his side. Damn if his leather didn't look good on her, after he talked to his soul wearing ponce of a sire, he might just keep the chit around, especially if what all the loons claimed was true, and Drusilla had really left him. A nice warm power laced human in his bed, chained to his wall, yeah, a mate could really get used to that. He must've been leering, because she went suddenly pale, flushing deep red as the prick at the counter cleared his throat loudly.

"A room," he ordered, reaching into his coat, even though it was on her, teasingly copping a quick feel as he snatched his wallet from the inside pocket. She flushed even darker red but didn't comment, smart girl. He was the Big Bad, and she was just some human brat, if he wanted her, well then she didn't _get_ a say.

"One bed or two?" the clerk asked in a bored monotone. Spike pointedly ignore the girl's pleading look and smirked.

"One will be just fine mate," he hugged her a little more snugly to himself. Sunrise was in an hour or so, plenty of time to have a lil' fun. Damn how he missed fun, life'd been nothing but a chore since he'd woken up two nights ago, he deserved a little release. He and Dru usually picked their humans together, but she wasn't here, so he didn't feel the slightest remorse in not taking her feelings into account.

As they headed down the hall he felt the girl's wary glare on him, and with a cutting look he snapped, "What?" She shook her head, looking away quickly. He rolled his eyes, bloody women. He opened the door, looking inside, before he could think twice the dastardly brat walked in, pointedly giving him a once over from five feet inside the door frame. He scowled, going to enter, and froze. Oh, bullocks.

She grinned, "Something wrong Spiky?" She asked in a girly taunt. He sneered, she'd _planned_ this. He'd gut the bint.

"Invite me in," he uttered in a low growl, blue eyes flashing yellow for a moment. She put a finger to her lips, giving him a knowing smirk.

"No way," she responded tartly. She flopped onto the bed, not wanting to get close enough to the door to close it, and gave him a triumphant look. Her hand reached for the telephone and he snarled.

"Touch that, and I'll rip your bleedin' heart out," he uttered with as much dangerous intent as he could muster. Bested by a friggin' _teenager_, he was so livid he was seeing red. She paused, giving him an unfathomable look.

"I'm safe in here," she told him confidently, but he saw the unease in that. He grinned maliciously, folding his arms and leaning in the door jamb.

"Sure _you_ are," he uttered, an epiphany hitting him, "Course the other humans about, they won't be so lucky. Ya see," he shifted into game face, "for every minute you spend lookin' smug and cryin' to you friggin' sis for help, I'm going to drain an _innocent human_. Tell me, pet, how many people will you let die to save yourself?" He watched her pale with glee, he'd struck a sore point, probably had to do with that rant about her sis not supposing to have died to save her. Lovely. "I'll _start_ with a kid, too," he added with a glittering sneer, he shrugged. "Course, you go ahead and call, I'll be right back." He turned his back meaningfully.

"Wait!" she sagged, looking so pathetically distraught. Yep, that was the problem with being on the 'good guys' side, it made you a freaking bleeding hearted pansy. He turned, slowly, tilting his head in inquiry.

"Yes luv?" He demanded with a smug smirk. She trembled, wringing her hands.

"W-what…" she swallowed, her eyes too wide and haunted, "what are you going to do…you know, to me?" Dawn had to fight not to tremble, not to look weak. His grin broadened, his head still tilted and he gave her a thoughtful look, his riveting blue irises traveling down her body in a very shiver inducing way.

"'Suppose you'll 'ave to let me in and find out, niblet," his blue eyes swirled with devious mirth, "'Less you want ta do it my way," he shrugged, smirking, "my way sounds like more fun, personally." Dawn shook her head, letting her hair cover her eyes, so he wouldn't see the terror in them. Of course, being a vampire he could smell her intoxicating fear from where he stood. Like the sweetest ambrosia, beckoning him to sink fang, as well as a few other things.

"I-I invite you in," she murmured, wincing. In a flash he was hovering over her, murderous retaliation brewing in his gaze. She shivered, suddenly cold despite the heavy leather coat she wore. He was going to _kill_ her.

"Ah, I knew you'd see reason," he murmured approvingly, wrapping her chin in his steel grip and forcing her to look up at him. He looked positively pissed, his expression distant, evil. He frowned, slowly unzipping her from his leather duster, crowding her personal space, breathing in her fear, listening to the heady pound of her heart beat as it accelerated.

"Now, pet," he breathed, slipping the leather from her slender shoulders, pushing her so she fell backwards onto the bed, "You get to see what happens to naughty little girlies when they cross the Big Bad." He eyed her splayed form in appreciation, softly moving the hair from her terror stricken features. Dawn gasped, feeling dread well in icy tendrils through her abdomen. This could only end badly.

-*-

"DAMN!" Buffy slammed down the phone. Willow jumped from where she was seated, paging through a musty book about demons and prophecies. Nothing about Spike, nothing about the key, she knew Buffy's frustration, but it still pained her to see her best friend looking so hopeless.

"Angel hasn't seen them?" she questioned quietly. The blonde girl looked a mixture of frustrated and despondent.

"No, he hasn't," she admitted weakly. "Willow, what am I supposed to do? What's the point of being the Chosen One if you can't save anyone you love? Not Angel, not my mom, and now, not even Dawn." Tears leaked through her brave façade, dribbling down her pale cheeks. Willow's heart went out to her; she embraced her friend, letting her cry herself out.

An embarrassed British man stalled at the emotional display he encountered, not quite sure how to precede. "Uh, ahem…" He stated gruffly, embarrassment pinkening his cheeks. Both girls broke apart, startled. "Yes, well…" he ran a hand through his hair, "Sorry to interrupt, but a contact of mine seems to think he's on to something." Both girls' attentions were solely on him now, his Slayer's still moist eyes glistening with hope.

"What is it, Giles?" Buffy demanded anxiously. He smiled weakly.

"Seems like Dawn might've been onto something," he sighed, pained to admit this, "a powerful Magician was seen leaving William's crypt, right before you came along. He deals in black magic, rumor has it, and he's been seen with Drusilla lately, which can only mean bad news on our end." Buffy's eyes narrowed.

"Why do anything to Spike?" Buffy demanded in confusion, "He's practically half bad already, new found chip related changes of heart aside, what does anyone gain from that? Angelus I could understand, but Spike, he's…" she shrugged, "not exactly a key player." Giles nodded.

"It is quite the mystery, however, if he had been tampered with…"

Buffy cut her watcher off, "I don't care, I'll still stake his undead ass for touching Dawn, he better pray he gets un-tampered with before I get to him, and even then, if he's harmed one hair on her head he's ash tray material." After her tirade subsided Giles continued.

"Be that as it may, it gets worse," he sighed, "this magician, Alexis; he's been poking around lately, looking for information on the Key. If he finds them before we do…" Giles trailed off, letting the weary dread show in his stare. Buffy scowled, determination shining in her emerald stare.

"Well, we'll just have to stop that from happening, won't we?"

-*-To Be Cont.-*-

**A/N: ** Awe shucks, Dawnie, and you were _so_ clever! Ah well, better luck next time LOL. For those of you willing to beat me for leaving you hanging, thank you, nothing says you liked a story more than a violent desire to murder the person who isn't finishing it fast enough. More to come, I promise. Below is me gushing to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, so if rambling and praise bore you, best be on your way then.

Spike: Can I eat the nasty reviewers?  
Author: Sorry, there weren't any.  
Dawn: Stop trying to EAT people!  
Spike: Can't help it luv, they're just so… juicy.  
Dawn: *throws up her hands in exasperation* Gah!

**Chloe: **Being original is _so hard_, and even when I think 'hey, nobody has done this idea before!' I'll go to a bookstore and find something so similar like a week later. So when somebody says I'm being original I just want to give them a big hug!! Thank you, you made my day!

**Claire Starling:** There IS more to the story (obviously) but in actuality I do believe this is going to be a short fan fiction. I'll keep updating if you keep reading!

**Aliylah: **LOL, Don't die! I never post a story I intend to abandon, not intentionally. There is more Dawn to Dusk to come, and I can't wait to hear what you think!

**SoUtHeRnBeLLe706**: It's reviews like yours that keep writers like me focused! Thanks for the praise!

**Sckid:** Thank you so much for your comment, especially the 'talented writer part' LOL. Dawn and Spike have always been a favorite couple of mine too. I hope this chapter measures up to your expectations.

**Sirenlove: **Yes, I will finish the story, as long as my muse doesn't turn all slacker on me. 

**Honorable Mention**: **Xeelia; Starophiel; Shadowcat2003; BlackDog616; Woot;**

THANK YOU ALL!


	3. Chapter 3

**Dusk to Dawn**

**By:** Demon Tsunami

**Warning**: This chapter contains some limey smut, (Dawn: _It better NOT!_ Spike: _*Chuckles evilly to self*…._) Violence, blood sucking, and some mild language also included. It's like a little bundle of fanged fun.

_**Last Time: **__"Now, pet," he breathed, slipping the leather from her slender shoulders, pushing her so she fell backwards onto the bed, "You get to see what happens to naughty little girlies when they cross the Big Bad." He eyed her splayed form in appreciation, softly moving the hair from her terror stricken features. Dawn gasped, feeling dread well in icy tendrils through her abdomen. This could only end badly..._

'Into a sea of blood and darkness  
Fearing sunlight's burning starkness  
Moonlight belongs to the depraved  
In hell's night, nothing's saved'

-A tid bit from Spike's _very_ hidden poetry journal. (Don't tell him I have it.)

The Big Bad was done playing nice.

"Oi, niblet," eyes like azul fire, "I can taste your fear," he half groaned, it was spiking, clouding the air with a seductive coppery scent, his fingers skimmed the edge of her dirtied t-shirt, "let's see if we can increase it, shall we?"

A mute moment of challenge elapsed, where they both paused, observing one another, her breath came in shaky pants as her lungs burned from their erratic pulls of oxygen, his in calm, cool exhales he made out of habit, their mingled breathing joined in the scant inches between them. He could feel her heart beneath his hand, pulsing frantically against her chest in a soft pitter-pat tempo of adrenaline and fear, his fingers curled around that fleeting beat, unintentionally molding around the curve of her chest. Dawn let out a small gasp, eyes wide and desperate, was he planning on ripping out her heart? She knew she'd angered him, it was in the feral, violent sheen of his heartbreakingly blue eyes, the thin derisive curve to his lips, and the stiff, angry tension of his form, pinning hers to the stiff motel mattress beneath them. How angry, exactly, she wondered in a building wave of turbulent unease, did one need to make the Big Bad in order for him to kill you?

She could only pray it fell under the 'tootsie pop' rule of thumb, 'the world may never know' sounded a lot better than 'you're about to find out'.

Dawn very much wanted to say that she knew Spike wouldn't kill her. That, in fact, he was better than that, that he would understand that she felt trapped with him being such a domineering ass, forced to resort to trickery and cunning to escape him, that he would forgive her for merely wanting to go _home_, for wanting to get away from this confusing, emotionally distressing situation, but she couldn't. The Spike she knew, the one who would've laughed, called her a 'right saucy tart', and followed it up with some good natured verbal ribbing over this, was eons, miles, and galaxies away from the vengeful visage looming over her in sharp angles and two burning sapphire eyes. This Spike looked ready to throttle her, to exact a revenge she would bet a million dollars she wouldn't like, in fact, eyeing the deviant cast of his sculpted face, she wasn't even sure she'd _survive_ it. Dawn gulped, trying to stem her panic. It almost worked, until two, cool, smooth as marble hands gripped the collar of her shirt, a teasing and violent glint sparking in midnight blue irises that sent an answering chill of nauseous dread curdling in her gut.

His hands jerked, parting the stiff cotton of what used to be one of her favorite shirts like it was tissue paper, tearing it into two sad little pieces and baring her flat stomach to his cold, analytical view. She winced, freezing as her terror elevated into a wigginess of epic proportions, the oil-like dread leaked from the pit of her stomach, through every nerve ending, dousing her in heart stopping panic. Dawn's eyes squeezed shut against the amused consideration her soon-to-be-murderer regarded her with; maybe if she kept her eyes shut long enough when she opened them this will all have been a very long, very horrid, and very disturbing nightmare. One she, Buffy, and Spike could laugh about later… Well, maybe she'd leave out the biting and shirt ripping, and throat squeezing parts in the re-telling…

A dastardly chuckle rumbled in the pale column of his throat, spilling out his lips at the sight before him. He couldn't help it, despite the burning rage that had motivated him seconds before, this was just too much. A snigger escaped next, causing him to frown thoughtfully at the source of his amusement.

"Rainbows, luv?" he grinned down at her in mocking incredulity. She was so caught off guard her eyes snapped open and she attempted to rise, a furious blush erupting across her pale cheeks and dusting them a soft rose hue. He stopped her, of course, and she seethed silently, wishing for the millionth time she wasn't one of the few _without_ super human strength, it made things like fighting for your life that much harder. Her bra, she noted in a sort of shocked disbelief, was in fact rainbow, and despite that this very well might be a life-or-death scenario, she fought an embarrassed urge to explain the lack of maturity of her under things to the man laughing at her, and then with an equal sense of mortification, decided she didn't need to explain such things to Spike, of all people! He was still looking at her, a dark sort of expression on his looming profile, heat flaring in his eyes, contradicted by a small, amused smirk still pulling at his lips, letting the tips of his fangs peek out.

"Do yer knickers match?" He wondered aloud, briefly distracted by the child like quality of her under things. She looked like a woman, smelled and tasted like a woman, but there was an innocent lining to her, something pure that made him was to sink his fangs in, rip it out of her. Make her dark and nasty like him.

Something in his stare caused Dawn to reevaluate her diagnosis of this entire situation, a mind blowing, not-to-be-voiced aloud suspicion struck her with the subtlety of a lightning bolt, and suddenly, she had a very _bad _feeling that death might not be the punishment the master vampire pinning her to the bed had in mind. It wasn't anywhere near a comforting realization.

"S-Spike…" tentatively her fingers slip to his chest, applying a faint pressure there, trying to hold him off, if only momentarily, "could you, um, _not_ do this, please?" Her wide eyes bore into him, pleading, trusting in some deep rooted part of her that somewhere in there, past the new found evil and amnesia, had to be a part of the good vampire she remembered, the Spike who'd been her big brother figure, her protector, her friend. The one who didn't rip her shirt in half and start growling embarrassing things into her ear. She was going to voice this hope out loud, but the look he gave her stole her breath.

Suddenly she was swimming in a sea of leather, pale skin, and intense sapphire eyes, and she'd never felt like this before. Like she couldn't pull in enough air, like her whole body was shivering and tingling at the same time, it was unsettling, strange, and overwhelming. That's when she realized perhaps the most visible difference between the Spike she knew and the one leaning over her hungrily, was that this Spike didn't look at her like she was a defenseless child to be coddled and shielded from the world, this Spike still counted her as defenseless perhaps, but she wasn't just the 'child', the 'little sister', those lust burnt eyes looked at her like they'd once traced Buffy, like she was in fact, a woman. She stiffened, schooling herself to save that revelation for a different point in time, like maybe one where Spike wasn't ripping her clothes off and getting too long a look at her underwear. Yikes, was that _really_ what he was doing?!?! One look at him had Dawn erupting into another wave of scalding emotion she couldn't define, eyes the color of winter traced her body, memorizing her skin from the dip of her collar bone to seam of her pants, feasting on the sight, _no one_ had ever looked at Dawn Summers like that, not once. It only served to fluster her further.

"Please don't do this," her voice was a whisper, strained and filled with apprehension, fear of the unknown gripping her throat and making her words small; lacking their usual force. Scalding ice blue eyes met her pleading hazel stare in lazy carnal appreciation.

"Oh, but Niblet," he smirked softly, "we haven't _done_ anything yet," he promised her in a amused guttural half-growl, his cold hand snaking around her warm wrists, catching both of them in his unyielding grip. He pinned them upward, above her head, stretching her out beneath him almost painfully, his eyes so dark with desire they looked almost black. Dawn wiggled uselessly, trying to struggle in desperation; her breath came in short, panicky bursts at the half lidded look he bestowed upon her, it made something in her instinctively demand she flee, immediately, as in _right now_.

The master vampire did his best not to laugh at her pitiful attempts for release, as if _she_ could ever overpower _him_, although he did have to admire her feisty spirit, he supposed drily, even _she_ had to realize how futile her efforts were. She was no match for him.

"Shh," he soothed wickedly, a smirk twitching at his mouth, "don't make me tie you up pet," he left a space of indefinite silence before adding in a purred threat, "I might not let you go…" he murmured, bending down to languidly swipe his tongue across the hallow of her throat, causing her to go rigid in surprise. Dawn yelped helplessly as his teeth scraped her pulse point, his tongue teasing the overly sensitive skin as she tried to thrash and wrench herself away from his administrations. What in the name of wigginess and big bad evil vampires was Spike doing???? He sucked on her un-punctured flesh, nibbling and licking, enjoying the feel of her body squirming beneath him.

"W-wh-what?" she gasped, trying to pull her neck away from his mouth and fangs. He peered down at her, looking devilish and quite pleased with himself, his blonde locks fell partially onto his pale forehead as he tilted his head, slightly obscuring his searing blue eyes. Frantically, she searched for something, anything to distract him from _licking_ her. Unfortunately what came out was, "I-I-I thought you were going to k-kill me." His liquid sapphire eyes hardened into gems and narrowed as he chuckled down at her derisively.

"If you're disappointed, luv, I can always change my mind," he offered in light confusion, "course, I prefer this punishment, it's not as messy to clean up after." His grin turned roguish, and totally dazzling, Dawn sucked in a breath, trying to steal herself against his natural magnetism, "Ever been fucked by a vampire, pet?" his free hand toyed at the seam of her jeans with languid strokes of his long cool fingers, the hand on her wrists squeezed painfully in his effort to curb his excitement. She was currently choking on surprise at his vulgar question. "You know what they say, luv, once you go fang, you don't go back…." He fought to laugh aloud at the look this provoked from her. Dawn's face washed of color, going pallid as her eyes widened into almost impossibly wide circles.

"They don't say that!" She squeaked. He snickered dropping his voice into a silken whisper.

"Oh, but _you_ will, tid bit, you will," he promised huskily, one eyebrow arched. She thrashed, trying to free her hands, her legs, _anything_. He watched for a moment, amused at her futile struggles. But the amusement faded too quickly once he got caught up in watching her chest heave with her labored breaths, his ears filled with the sound of her racing pulse, and his mouth began to water, eyes going half lidded and definitely intrigued. What better way, he justified to himself almost nonchalantly, to teach the girl beneath him, and her Slayer sister, that he wasn't to be trifled with, than to mark the girl in a way she wouldn't soon to forget. His fang marks on her throat, and his touch on every other inch of skin, would go a long way to prove to everyone just how little he cared for the Slayer beyond his desire to drain her blood from her body. Maybe he'd keep this one; he added to himself, she'd make an excellent consolation prize. He promptly silenced the voice in his head that suggested her wanted her for more reasons than just a trophy. Just as he was musing on this, the girl beneath him gave a particularly fierce tug, wiggling and thrashing in a twisting pull, her hazel eyes burning with hostility.

"Save your strength," he growled, his free hand traced circles on her flat stomach, learning each little dip of flesh, ignoring the way she gasped and squirmed as if to avoid it. "You'll need it." He gave her a smoldering look as he spoke, riddled with masculine authority, his head lowered, startlingly fierce eyes flashing his threat.

Dawn was so shocked she stilled, gasping in mortification and surprise as he dipped his head downward and licked her, his tongue swiping from her navel to the edge of her bra. Mortification didn't even begin to cover what she felt when her traitorous body responded to his caress, her spine going rigid and bending towards that warm wet mouth in a way that she definitely did not intend it to. He chuckled into her stomach, his cool breath raising goose bumps across her slightly moist flesh, he hadn't missed her response. Living a hundred years or so taught a mate a few things about pain and pleasure, and how very sweet the mixing of the two could be.

His blunt teeth grazed her flushed skin, his fangs scratching slightly as his tongue licked and twisted across the soft plains of warm silky flesh, his free hand wrenched the bra from her trembling frame, groaning a little at her startled yelp of shock and confusion. He gnashed his teeth against the onslaught of need as he eyes feasted on the sight of more exposed skin, sweet hell, he'd never felt so aroused by just seeing a girl's chest before. He grinned in wicked pleasure, letting her see how much he appreciated the view of her rapidly rising and falling chest, and without sparing her a second glance he resumed his administrations, licking, petting, twisting, pulling, nibbling, in essence, he utilized every skill he knew to drive her to the edge of madness, he wanted her as lost to this as he was, completely unable to stop it, watching it unravel with a almost painful need. Her pleas for him to stop were meaningless, pointless, he couldn't if he'd wanted to, and he definitely didn't want to. Quite the opposite really, he'd much prefer her whispered pleas to be _encouragement_.

His teeth clamped on one nipple and he sighed in contentment as she let out the tiniest little moan, unaware that she was beyond humiliated that he'd gotten that much from her, and that there was a scalding wetness pricking the corner of her eyes, burning with humiliation, fear, and shame.

"Like that, pet?" he sucked in a sharp breath, smelling her excitement even as she denied it. "A lil' rough play," he teased in guttural satisfaction, "never would've guessed."

"GET OFF ME!" she shrieked, provoked by his goading. He growled low in the back of his throat, his hand clamping around her mouth. She stilled instinctively as his fingers tightened into a vise around her mouth and cheeks, she was fairly certain he was bruising her face.

"'ere's the _deal_, pet, you play nice, I play nice," he snarled, "you start screamin', and 'll give you somethin' worth screamin' about." His facial features conveyed that the screaming he referred to would not be out of anything pleasurable. Dawn gulped, swallowing dryly and nodding, her eyes still stinging with tears she fought against fiercely. Her lip trembled, but stubbornly, desperately, she insisted to herself she would _not_ cry. She was so sick of being the weak one, just once she wanted to be strong and brave, worthy of a sister like Buffy, who never faltered in the face of disaster, instead of herself; trembling and terrified, unable to save herself from even so much as _one_ vampire, let alone the dozens her elder sister effortlessly disposed of on a nightly basis. If she'd only been braver before, in the last crisis, Buffy would've never died, and this wouldn't even be happening right now. This was all her fault.

Spike released her mouth from his brutal grip, holding her chin between his fingers as he replaced where he'd rested his palm with his lips, moving against her soft mouth roughly, letting his pent up aggravation show in his every movement. She was such a daft chit, working his last nerve, driving him mad with anger, frustrated need, and a possessive sort of desire he dared not acknowledge, let alone name. With an inward snarl he let his emotional overload fuse into his kiss, hard, fierce, and cruel; he punished her with his lips, dividing her jaw remorselessly and plundering the sweet warmth of her mouth as she resisted and fought. Twisting and battling, proving his dominance, grazing his fangs over the swollen curves and nibbling sharp little bites down the smooth skin of her chin and neck, sucking and pulling, scratching and nibbling. How dare she provoke such feelings from him and remain unaffected, make his blood boil while she remained fearful, rejecting? His hands glided across her hips and stomach, testing, tasting, and drowning in the scent of her.

She smelled like twilight, like fresh dew and something soft and elusive, with a slight aroma of a tangy perfume coating the fragrance, but her skin tasted spicy sweet, better than anything he'd known in a long time, and he inhaled greedily, soaking up the flavor of her. Her skin was addictive, her scent, the little gasps she made without meaning to, no matter how hard she clenched her teeth. She reacted to him, fighting and writhing, clawing and denying, but it didn't matter, because he knew she liked it, liked his mouth on her, his hands on her soft skin, his cool lips crashing into her enflamed ones. Her body trembled beneath his, and unlike the wanton displays he was used to, this timid little primal reaction got his dead blood flowing like lava in his long dead veins.

He'd known plenty of women, taken them to his bed, he used to think he liked them passion filled, slightly wanton and devious, and had scorned Angelus' love of the innocent and sweet. Suddenly he understood what his sire had meant; having an innocent was so much more fulfilling. They were so much sweeter, their reactions weren't schooled and perfected, boringly predictable, no, hers were wild and fierce as she struggled blindly against things she didn't quite understand. He growled into her mouth, stealing another punishing kiss, licking his lips at the residual imprint that lingered on his own mouth.

Dawn had never had a man, or in her case, a boy, kiss her like Spike was kissing her. With such a brutal ferocity it bordered on violence, only to suddenly, without warning, soften into a passionate exploration, littered with sharp nips and soft masculine growls. It was like he was devouring her in that kiss, and her whole body pulsed and burned with the foreign sensation. She didn't want to like it, didn't want _this_ period, but he'd her no choice, it wasn't the bumbling awkwardness of a teen boy that she was pitted against, but the sexual prowess of a centuries old vampire, who knew exactly what he was doing, and how it was done. And apparently, she thought with slowly slipping logic, he relished doing it. His grip on her wrists and legs was like steel, his mouth left a trail of fire in its wake, and no matter how she thrashed or jerked he held steady, firm and unrelenting. Drowning her in the smell of his acidic tobacco, the faint traces of his musky cologne, and underneath it all the smell of Spike himself, like the air in Fall, sharp and crisp, fresh and yet tainted with the hint of winter's decay. All together it was a sensory overload, one that threatened to consume her, to rip all coherency from her thoughts and force her to merely _feel_.

"Bloody 'ell," he groaned, she was getting him harder than advanced calculus, and he was dying to be inside her, he could smell her, the scent of her excitement was taunting him, teasing him. He growled into the hallow of her throat, pressing himself against her fully, and smirking into her shoulder at the small squeak she let out. Yet _another_ reason they call me the Big Bad, he thought to himself smugly. His hands went to the seam of her jeans, toying with it, slipping a finger beneath the thick fabric and idly tracing the sensitive skin underneath. She was so fucking soft, so sweet and tender, everything he wasn't. How long since he'd actually taken someone so naïve and young into his bed? Too long, he decided swiftly, and he sought to remedy that quickly. Now. With her.

She fought again when he tried to undo her jeans, bucked and attempted to claw at his wrists. His eyes narrowed into flinty slits, and he parted his lips, growling at her in warning. She got the message and stilled, her eyes wide and doe like as he leered down at her trembling little body. With a lazy smirk he unzipped her pants, peeling them from her slim little hips, eyes widening as he saw the satin thong. After seeing her bra, he'd been prepared for kittens or some such bullocks, but this was crimson satin, and it looked abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous against her ivory skin. Deep crimson set against pale ivory, his mouth flooded, his fingers curled, his cock strained. Something about the color of blood, it was erotic, and on her nubile flawless body? It was just plain torture, but the sort he very much enjoyed.

"Oh pet," he whispered gravelly, leaning down to get a better look, his body melting into hers subconsciously. He let out a loud grunt and then a snarl as her knee shot up past his relaxed leg and connected to his jaw and nose in a deafening crack. It hurt, maybe not too much, not as much as her Slayer sister could have made it smart, but still, the nerve of her! Fecking bitch! With little time spared for forethought, his hand crashed brutally across the side of her face, growling his frustration even as her head jerked violently to the side and she whimpered in choked pain. Dawn clenched her teeth at the impact of his cold, hard palm, her whole cheek throbbing with the force of the blow; pain blossoming across her face like someone had poured fire across it.

"Tit for tat," he uttered barely leashed fury into the shell of her ear, his voice was like liquid poison, "you're a slow leaner, luv." Dawn attempted to thrash wildly, but he had her pinned too well, unlike the wily bint beneath him, he learned from his mistakes, she wouldn't be catching him off guard again anytime soon.

Dawn had never hated Spike as much as she did at that moment, sure, she had maybe sort of gotten into him kissing her and stuff (that was going in the back of her brain under 'do not open, EVER') but there was no freaking way that she was going to have sex with a psychotic kidnapping vampire. Especially since said vampire had claimed to love her sister not even a full week ago, and furthermore, Dawn was not a fuck-on-the-first-date type of girl. If she'd ever even had a date, which, she hadn't. Something about having a tough as nails Slayer sister, living on the Hellmouth, and being a ball of mystical monk-made energy just didn't afford for a lot of free time. Let alone the fact that every guy she knew thought she was strange, weird, some went as far as to call her _creepy_. Another one of those "freaky Summers girls" was how the kids at school frequently referred to her. Ironically enough, the only male she'd known who hadn't looked at her like she was a freak of nature had been Spike, Dawn hadn't even realized how much that mattered to her, until he'd hit her, and the overwhelming sense of betrayal had surfaced, how could he just _do_ that? Like everything beforehand meant _nothing_ to him. Like she meant nothing to him.

His cold fingers wrapped back around her wrists in a bruising grasp, his eyes still bleeding a mixture of arousal and fury, while his other hand slowly, deliberately, and began sliding red silk down off of her slender hips. Dawn bit her lip to withhold an errant sob, shivering in pain, terror, and the pulsing feeling of dread that had returned with a vengeance. The whole time he spent taunting her, eyes hard and mouth grim as he peeled off what remained of her clothes, she was unpleasantly reminded of every fantasy she'd ever had about the blonde vampire who was currently on top of her. None of them had included him forcing her, let alone hitting her. Her cheek throbbed, her jaw ached and beneath the physical pain she felt small, weak, and helpless, no matter how she fought them, the tears pushed forward, scalding little trails of betrayal and hurt down her cheeks. The most she could muster was to grit her teeth to try and keep from sobbing. It wasn't fair. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was right.

Spike paused when he heard the little minx sniffling and sniveling, and then stilled with a soundless hiss of frustration. Damn it. "What now?" He gritted out hoarsely, he was equal parts turned on and pissed off, and he was in no mood for her water works. If she thought he gave one flying fuck about her problems after that little stunt she pulled… he jerked in surprise at the misty eyed misery written across her face, his undead heart stuttering in his chest, he knew that look, well, not _him_, but who he'd been. William, the human, was no stranger to heart break. The vampire part of his self sneered at it, but he couldn't shake the unease. She looked fragile, broken almost, and without meaning to he soothing pressed her hair from her flushed and tear stained profile, trying to ignore the way she flinched when he pressed against the now swelling redness of the cheek he'd attacked.

"I-I-I…" she let out a jagged sob, squeezing her eyes against the hot tears pooling in her vision. "I don't want to," she muttered pitifully. Spike's eyes narrowed, and he let out a long, unneeded exhale through his teeth to remain calm. He was _not_ affected by her tears, he reminded himself, he did _not_ care if she was scared, hurt, or afraid of him now. He glanced at her uneasily, would she be then? If he kept at it, would that rawness in her eyes be replaced with loathing and terror, would she stop turning that delicious pink shade when he touched her? That blush of attraction, would it be devoured by fear and shame if he pressed on despite the fact that she was now, unquestionably, unwilling? He scowled, telling himself he didn't care either way. Funny thing was, he didn't quite believe himself.

"Relax pet," he whispered softly, brushing those wet drops from under her eyes. His tone tried for sensual and commanding, but came off almost comforting.

"Stop," she tried to twist out of his grip as he went to kiss her, pressing her legs together with all her might. His brow furrowed, he didn't get it, girls usually loved a bit of sport with him, and he wasn't even making this painful or cruel, like he was more than capable of doing. With a narrow eyed look he decided she was just being difficult.

"I can make this better than any of your prat boyfriends could ever dream of luv, I'll be sweet," he didn't like promising those things, felt they should be implied by his skill, but he saw little choice with her havering on so. Perhaps slapping her a bit had given her the wrong impression, one he needed to clarify. That hadn't been part of the love play, that had simply been…Well, his temper, that's what. Dawn stared at him through watery eyes and scowled.

"I've never had a boyfriend Spike!" She cried in exasperation, "and you know it!" She'd told him, once, and he'd chuckled and assured her that 'all things come in good time', muttering under his breath that he'd have to gut the first boy who did her wrong. She'd found it sweet. Nothing about her current predicament was sweet. Spike was being a Grade A Jerk.

Spike pondered her words, and then grimaced, rolling off her with a frustrated growl, "You're a fucking virgin," he moaned in ire, resting his hand over his eyes. He'd known she was innocent, but _that_ innocent? Come on, in modern days, looking like she did, at her age, he would have assumed she'd done it at least once. Well actually, given how receptive she'd been, he'd been guessing a lot more than 'once'.

That no guy had ever ventured there with her was simultaneously daunting and arousing. Daunting, because if he remembered correctly (it'd been a while since he'd romped with a true innocent, decades even) the amount of time it'd take to work her into an accommodating state was more than he had, sunrise was in little less than a half hour. Fuck. He really was turning into a ponce, he shouldn't care if she enjoyed it, he should just take her and be done with it. His demon thought it was a roaring good idea. It's not like he hadn't done worse before, he was the Big Bad after all, but for some unsettling reason, ever time the bloody chit broke down into tears he found himself giving in to her. It was wrong, she was the slayer's sister, he was a bad ass master vampire, he should _like_ making her cry, but he didn't, and that pissed him off. In fact, for that little stunt earlier he should've ripped off her head and called it a day.

"S-spike?" she voiced hesitantly, stirring enough to button her pants and peer over him. Two pale fingers parted, letting her see a slit of feral blue between.

"I changed my mind," he growled, taking his temper out on her. Dawn's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Really?" she asked, almost afraid to voice it aloud. He cursed the almost trusting expression on her face.

"I'll save myself the trouble." He sneered, "Yer not even human, the packaging's misleading, but no bloke seriously wants to get it on with mystic energy." He forced his expression into that of scathing disgust.

"B-but…" she was at a loss, _that's _why he'd stopped? Seeing the tentative hurt and betrayal in her eyes a cold smile tugged at his lips.

"Bugger off, twit." His fingers snapped closed, shutting her out. Dawn reeled a bit, her chest feeling an unexplainable tug of pain. She should be relieved; this is what she wanted, right? For him to stop? So why did hearing him say that hurt so much?

"Fuck you Spike!" She spat. He chuckled darkly.

"Didn' I already say no?" He taunted nastily. Dawn let out a shriek of female rage, running off the bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Stupid Spike! He was nothing but an asshole!

-*-

Buffy gingerly massaged her mostly healed arm, it was still in a sling and it _hurt_. Not to mention the cracked ribs, Slayer healing was fast, but she was still weak from almost getting pummeled to death. She was propped up on the couch, her friends and an array of heavy tombs spread out in front of her. Books wouldn't save Dawn though, she had little faith in the twisting archaic words, what she did have faith in was sharpened stakes, silver blades, and her own ability to create harm. These are the things the baddies feared, not script from languages long lost, not spells and other mumbo jumbo, they feared what the Chosen One could inflict on them. They were right to, since her defeat at Spike's hands, she was anything but merciful feeling right now, and she was aching to run into the heart of Sunny Dale and start dusting vampires until she got what she wanted, or satisfied the need to hurt, to maim, to kill. Buffy's cat like eyes registered Willow's stare, the docile red head was eyeing her best friend with apprehension, her gaze worried and troubled.

"Buffy, are you listening?" Willow asked, her fingers stuck in a large blue leather book, marking the page. The blonde shook her head, no, she hadn't been paying attention to the meaningless chatter around her, she'd been too busy envisioning what she would do to a certain undead Billy Idol wanna-be when she got a hold of him. It involved a lot of bone crunching.

"We've found a viable solution," Giles looked tired, the large purple splotches beneath his eyes gave credit to the many hours he'd been pouring through these books; only stopping to check in with his connections, see if they'd heard anything about Spike or Dawn. He gingerly rubbed the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses, "A reverse spell to counteract the memory charm Spike's under, but we don't have all the ingredients…" his blood shot eyes scanned the spell, "some of these are rare, and others very expensive."

"I don't want him cured," Buffy announced, causing three sets of eyes to jump to hers in alarm, her own expression was volatile, that of an avenging angel. "I want him dead."

"B-but…" Willow began. Sharp eyes snapped to her, killing the protest on her lips.

"No, Willow, I won't risk anymore of my friends on the whim of vampires," Buffy toned darkly, "When we find him, he's dust." She settled back, determined, her expression as hard as stone, her lips a thin line of dissatisfaction. She was done trusting anyone with fangs, period.

Uneasy glances were exchanged throughout the room, but it was surprisingly, Xander, who spoke up first, "Look, Buffs, I hate Spike as much as the next guy, really," he told him friend earnestly, "but whatever voodoo junk-"

"Spell," Willow corrected. Xander rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," he sighed, "Look, the point is, last time we went up against him he turned all Hulk vampire, and almost killed you. If this spell thing will slow him down, or even knock some sense into him, it's worth a shot." He eyed the pensive blonde woman, his eyes pleading, "We want to save Dawn as much as you do, and if magic will give us an advantage over that crazy blood sucker, we should take it." He held out this hands, "That's all I'm saying."

"Plus," chimed in Anya, leaning in the door frame, a carton of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey in her hand, "Willow says this spell is supposed to weaken the caster and the subject, so when he's all woozy, you can cut his stupid heart out." Trust the vengeance demon to know exactly what Buffy wanted to hear.

"Alright," she shoved her bangs off her forehead, wincing as she jostled her tender rib cage, "What do we need?" Triumphant grins all around; it just wasn't a plan without their leader's approval. Giles alone looked unsatisfied, worry glimmering in his weary gaze, his Slayer was still recovering, not only from Spike, but also from her recent resurrection, he was afraid it was clouding her reason.

The girl he knew would not be so eager for revenge, she would be more focused on her sister, somehow he felt like her priorities were getting rearranged, and no one else seemed to notice. They were just happy to have her back. So much so they were blinded to the changes, relief was overshadowing their awareness, and he knew that as her Watcher, it was his duty to protect Buffy, even from herself. A vengeful Slayer could make mistakes. A person who only saw revenge as a motive would eventually lose sight of her purpose, to defend the innocent. He grimaced, brewing over it as the young and eager Scoobies showed Buffy their findings, like a class playing show-and-tell. He knew he'd have to talk to her, and what's worse, he knew her reaction would not be pleasant.

-*-

Alexis was a severe looking man, with sharp cheekbones and silver hair, his eyes, a hard steel like color, were cunning and cruel looking, giving him a appearance of age and dignity. His sister, a forty something woman with hair a dingy red color, was thin like a starved wolf, her mouth was a thin line with frown lines etched deeply at the corners, but her body was well toned, kept rigid by endless crunches and pull ups, as deadly as the sleek black gun tucked into the waist band of her blue jeans. They're eyes exchanged a brief nonverbal greeting, neither was known for niceties, and with a grim twist of her lips Stella got right to the heart of the matter.

"You still haven't found them?" She demanded, a stain of amusement in her cutting tone. Her brother pouted, his hands picking at an invisible speck of dust on his starched dress shirt in annoyance. He leisurely began scanning the filthy basement, a moue of disgust forming on his thin lips; his sister's hide outs were always dim and dingy.

"The vampire isn't taking the usual route; he keeps zigzagging, as if he knows he's being tracked," he sighed, "and that crazy bitch keeps having episodes, none of her information is useful, some nonsense about 'a light inside her' and nothing else." He rubbed his forehead in frustration, "It's one day away from that damn prophecy, and I'm no closer to killing that vampire."

"Shame the Slayer didn't do her part," Stella commented wryly. Alexis nodded gravely, it _was_ a shame. He'd expected the Slayer to kill the vampire quickly, and put both of them out of their misery. "Which is, of course, why you're here," Stella added, eyeing her newly sharpened army issued knife, her skilled fingers traced the written words Raider II. Alexis didn't like to admit needing help, especially to his ex-marine sister, but she had the sort of resources that would get this done quickly, and time was of the essence. He wanted Spike to be reduced to ashes, so he could focus on more intriguing matters, like the mystic key the vampire had somehow captured.

So much power, in one little girl, his mouth watered at the thought. He'd perfected a potion that should hold her immobile, providing him with a window to absorb all that wonderful mystic energy into himself, and he was quite proud of the results. With something as volatile as what the girl was created from, extra precautions had to be taken, being as she was already magical in design, he'd had to create an entirely new spell, as the one for humans would not react the same way on her. He was dragged from his plotting by his sister's snort of amusement.

"Same old Alex," she pointed out dryly, "never any good when things get…messy," she punctuated her teasing with a spring of her wrist, imbedding the five inch blade hilt deep into the wall.

"You know me," he forced out a chuckle, "I'm a lover, not a fighter." Her sharp grey eyes met his sardonically.

"You mean, you're a coward," she informed him. He shrugged off the insult. Truthfully, he tended to avoid hand to hand combat when possible, priding himself on his cunning, and spell work over his brawn. In his sister's mind, this made him weak. She stood, gracefully arching her back and stretching, rolling her shoulders aggressively and eyeing her sibling in resignation.

"I'll call Riggs, he's always good on short notice," she told him, "Five hundred, Alex, no less, or I'll drop your little fanged friend into that shitty bookstore of yours and watch as he drains you." She eyed her brother seriously, and he smiled weakly.

"Five hundred, but I want them both alive," he ordered, pulling two hundred and fifty from his bill fold, "by tomorrow, at the very latest." Stella hesitated for only a moment before snatching the cash and pocketing it.

"Alive, huh?" She licked her lips, envisioning the game of cat and mouse ahead of her, "Man, I've needed a good challenge." She started mentally cataloging the weapons she'd need for an extraction like that. The human girl would be easy, in her opinion the vampire would be the tricky one, good thing she was owed a few favors, or this would be more than tricky, it'd be suicide. This was a master vampire they were talking about, not some freshly risen fledgling, she'd have to remember to bring the silver stakes. She'd heard there was a good agency for finding the undead in L.A., Angel something-or-other; maybe they'd have an idea how to locate a renegade master vampire. It was worth a shot. She just wouldn't mention the human brat the vampire had brought along, she didn't need any do-gooders getting in her way.

"Use this for the girl," Alex pulled a thin glass vile from his jacket, the liquid inside it glittered a florescent red. Stella eyed the potion in disdain, gingerly taking it and holding it towards the light for closer inspection.

"What is it?" she wondered, twirling the pretty trinket in her calloused hands.

"A delicate spell potion," he informed her, pride evident in his tone, "It will immobilize the girl." Stella scowled, pocketing the silly little science experiment.

"It'd be more useful if it was for the vampire," she commented derisively. Alexis rolled his eyes at his sister's naïve mentality.

"Just use it," he ordered.

"Whatever," Stella shrugged on her thin leather jacket, fumbling for her pack of smokes. Alexis turned to leave, but paused, a promising idea flittering into his mind, and turned halfway towards his sister.

"Oh, and if you're interested, there's an insane vampire in my possession, if you get the girl and the other vampire, you're more than welcome to kill her," that did seem to brighten his sibling's mood, "Once she disposes of the master vampire, of course." Stella considered the offer, pulling her blue Bic from her jacket's pocket.

"It's always more fun when something gets to die," she agreed, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep inhale of smoke. Alexis simply shook his head at Stella's blood thirsty nature, leaving her dungeon like living quarters speedily, without so much as a goodbye.

-*-

Drusilla was vaguely aware that she was never quite right. Off and on, she was sentient enough to realize she was a bit mad, but it'd never been like this before. It was as if the darkness, her beloved demon, the lovely beast waiting beneath her creamy flesh and girly appearance, suddenly had company. Something shiny, it was too bright, something that burned and itched under her skin, something that didn't belong in there with all the darkness and insanity. It felt light and airy, and it burned her when her more blood thirsty natures surfaced, whispering into her head.

"The light," Dru moaned, "Ms. Edith, turn off the light." Her doll, her beautiful doll, was dead, burned to ashes. Angel was all wrong, too full of light, not the light that twisted and hurt her, but a different sort of glow, a soul. And Spike, Spike had left her, she was certain of it, and she loathed him for it. Nothing remained for her to love. Nothing. Everything was dust and ash. Soon Spike would be too.

She twisted, writhing in pain, it hurt to think of killing him, the light hissed and fizzed, it burned her, "STOP IT!" she wailed. "STOP! I want to be death and blood, skull and bits…." She whimpered, her demon begged for blood, but even eating hurt lately. She'd gone without a warm meal for two days, and felt haggard, fuzzy and confused. In her head a soft, musical voice assured her that this would all end, that she could be herself again, as soon as Spike was there.

"Ms. Edith, I want my tea…" she cried, sobbing hysterically. She wanted to sink her fangs into something soft and juicy, to bite and tear and guzzle. What was this strangeness? This foreign voice all white and pure? It was wrong! All wrong! She was a creature of darkness and she just wanted it to stop! Please, stop…

**A/N: ** Yes, it's been forever. I had this story finished when all my work was devoured by that nasty virus, so rewriting it was a challenge. I have to say I think it's turning out better for the loss, though, and while I'll never be known for updating quickly, I will continue this story, I promise. I love it too much to just walk away from it. But of course, your opinion matters too, so leave a review letting me know what you think.

Oh, massive kudos to CullenCrush, who's message motivated me out of procrastinating, and forced me to actually post this chapter. Thanks! Below you will find a rambling short story about Spike, Dawn, myself, and a certain poetry journal. It's not relevant to the story, just for fun.

**A Mini Story About Spike's Journal**

*An unearthly roar of rage is heard from the depths of Spike's crypt*

_Dawn and the author are playing a rousing game of checkers, when the furious master vampire bursts in. _

Spike: Alright, where is it?  
Dawn: *Confused* Where's what….? Oh, King me.  
Author: Damn, you keep winning. Oh, um, *Forces innocence* What's missing, Spiky?  
Spike: *Gapes in utter outrage* YOU. YOU took it. *Points finger dramatically*  
Author: How can I take something if I don't know what it is?  
Dawn: *Matter-of-factly* You better give it back, he _will_ eat you. *Skips four checkers*  
Spike: *Eyes narrow suspiciously* Niblet, you didn't have anything to do with this, did you?  
Dawn: *Fluttering eyelashes innocently* No, never.  
Spike: I smell conspiracy.  
Author: Must be my new perfume.  
Spike: Ha-Ha, now give it back, you crazy bints.  
Dawn & Author: What back?  
Spike: I will count to five, with my hand out, if it's not back by the time I'm finished, I kill you both, messily. *Closes eyes* One….Two…  
Author: *Mockingly* Oh….scary.  
Dawn: *Whispers* It's somewhere safe, right?  
Spike: I heard that! Three… Four….  
Author: *Whispers back* He'll _never_ find it.  
Spike: I bloody will! FIVE. *Crosses arms and glowers* That's it! Who wants to die painfully first?  
Author: *Forces Dawn's hand up*  
Dawn: HEY! *points at author* It was her idea!  
Author: Crap.  
Spike: Crap indeed, give it back, or I'll...I'll….*Turns to Dawn* What's that thing I do that's really scary?  
Dawn: Eat people?  
Spike: That's it! I'll eat you.  
Author: *Pouts* Fine…here Dawn. *Hands Dawn the journal*  
Spike: OI! THAT'S MINE!  
Dawn: *Opens journal and begins to read* You never told me it was _recent_ poetry.  
Spike: *Growls*  
Author: *whispers conspiratorially* There's one about you, page fifty one.  
Spike: IS NOT! GIVE IT BACK!  
Dawn: *Intrigued* You wrote about me?  
Spike: Did not!  
Author: Eight sonnets, and one limerick.  
Dawn: *Tucks book into her hoodie* Ciao!  
Spike: Oi! *In a convincing tone* Dawn, love, please give me the journal. *Best attempt at an 'innocent and sweet' expression*  
Dawn: *laughs and runs* What back?  
Spike: *Turns on Author, furious and snarling* I blame you for this, you sneaky bint. *Morphs into game face*  
Author: *Grins somewhat uneasily* Naturally, but uh, Spike?  
Spike: *Growling murderously in rage* What?  
Author: *Cocks head, listening intently* I think I hear a photocopier running….  
Spike: BLOODY HELL! *Darts up the stairs*  
Author: *Pulls out real journal and sighs, holding it to her chest in a loving manner* You want to help write chapter two, don't you little journal? *Smirks evilly and hides it again* I wonder how long until Spike finds out that other one's just a copy….*Shrugs* Oh well.


End file.
